Danger in Edoras
by King Caspian the Seafarer
Summary: AU fic. During a mission to Edoras with his Uncle Imrahil, nineteen-year-old Faramir and his cousin Amrothos find themselves caught up in a dangerous game concerning caverns, servants of Mordor, and a young, sword-weilding Eowyn.
1. Chapter 1

**Danger in Edoras**

by King Caspian the Seafarer

Disclaimer: I do not own the Lord of the Rings or any of the lands, characters, or adventures therein.

A/N: At last, after a good long two years of leaving everyone hanging in suspense after **Morwen and Isildur** (hehe...suspense...yeah right!) it is now my delight to (finally) announce the first chapter of **Danger in Edoras**: the (hopefully much better) sequel of** Mowen and Isildur**.

The setting is Rohan, early summer of the year 3011 in the Third Age. As this, like its predecessor, is AU, I've messed around with ages a bit and made Faramir and Boromir younger (Faramir looses 9 whole years to go from being 28 to 19, and I suppose that Boromir does the same). Eowyn, at 16, is the right age, as is Amrothos of Dol Amroth at 17. I do hope the AU-ness of this is not in any (serious) way confusing to anyone or detrimental to their enjoyment of the story.

This having been said, I am now pleased to present...

* * *

_Chapter 1_

The sky was the color of summer blue on the morning the adventure began. The sun smiled upon the smooth fields of green wheat that were soon to be golden, ready for harvest. The hilly plains of Rohan stretched to the north and east almost as far as the eye could see. Mountains loomed to the south, eventually trailing off into the western horizon like a road that gets smaller and smaller and then disappears as it moves further and further away.

Faramir, the younger son of Denethor, Steward of Gondor, sat atop his dappled stallion and stared searchingly across the green fields before him. Soon his gray eyes rested upon one hill that rose higher than the others. Upon keener scrutiny, it proved to be covered with small structures, the largest of which was settled on the crest of the mound.

Edoras. The city on the hill. The capital of Rohan, and the castle of Théoden, King of the Mark.

Faramir smiled absently. In all his nineteen years he had only once before laid eyes on the City on the Hill. Although in some ways it could never compare to the grandeur of Minas Tirith, there was a certain loneliness about Edoras, a solemn, far-off feeling that he couldn't quite put a finger on.

"Is that it?" asked a voice from beside him—a young voice. "Edoras, I mean? I can't believe Father's never brought me this way before."

Faramir turned in the saddle to look at the speaker, a boy of seventeen whose hair was remarkably fair considering that both of his parents were dark-haired.

"He's never taken you _anywhere_ before, Ro," he told his cousin with a grin. "You have only Boromir to thank that he decided to bring you with him on this visit."

Amrothos—affectionately nicknamed 'Ro' by Faramir, as well as his younger sister, who both knew him well enough to understand that he disliked being confused with the city of Amroth, their home—grinned and nodded, his dark eyes gleaming.

"Don't I know it?" he said with a groan. "It's about time Father picked me instead of the others. I was beginning to think I'd never see the lands outside of Belfalas!"

Faramir smiled grimly and glanced over his cousin's eager eyes and shining hair. It was little wonder he was his father's last choice when considering one of his sons for a companion. Amrothos was mischievous, curious to a fault, and had a quick temper, none of which made for a good diplomat. He made a fine cousin, however, and was a nice contrast to his two dark, serious older brothers.

Amrothos wheeled his horse around and cantered eagerly down the hill to where the rest of the company from Minas Tirith was slowly breaking camp, still in the valley-like place where they had passed the night. With one last lingering glance at Edoras, Faramir followed.

"Boromir!" shouted Amrothos all the way down the hill.

As Faramir thundered toward the encampment behind Amrothos, a young man with dark hair who had been adjusting his horse's girth looked their way. His brother, Boromir. A wide grin relaxed Boromir's features, and when Amrothos reined in his horse mere inches away, panting and grinning like a gremlin, the elder son of Denethor shook his head.

"By the elves, cousin, I don't think I've ever seen you move so quickly. One might almost think the enemy was approaching by your hasty entrance."

Amrothos swung down, trying to leap from his horse as he'd seen Faramir do, but tangled his foot in the stirrup and ended up falling off the horse with his foot still caught, looking most unprincely. Faramir dismounted with ease, and the two sons of Denethor stared at their cousin in silent amusement as he struggled to free himself. At last Faramir shrugged, grinning, and spoke.

"The city's in sight. We should reach it before dusk."

Boromir nodded steadily, and a man laughed from somewhere to their right.

"Truly, Faramir," said the newcomer, an older man with dark hair that was just beginning to gray at the temples, "for one who is usually so composed, you've been particularly impatient these last few days. Have you not seen the Mark's citadel before?"

"_I_ certainly haven't," exclaimed Amrothos as he stood, having at last freed his boot. His face was flushed.

"Only in passing, Uncle," Faramir told the man with a grin, ignoring his cousin. "Father always said…" he paused at the mention of his father, but then shoved aside the dark thoughts that threatened to dismay him, "…I mean, I've always heard it was a fitting palace to cap a land of horsemen, but I never understood what that meant."

Imrahil, Prince of Dol Amroth, uncle to Faramir and Boromir, and father of Amrothos, tactfully ignored the mention of his brother-in-law.

"You will find it very different from Minas Tirith, of course," his uncle began seriously, "but it has a beauty unlike any other place in Middle Earth."

"Even Belfalas, Uncle?" Boromir asked, innocently turning back to his own horse's tack.

"It has a different kind of beauty, I think," Amrothos said thoughtfully, combing his blond hair with his fingers.

"But surely not, Ro," Faramir cut in with a wry grin and elbowing his cousin as he picked up on his brother's joke. "Belfalas is renowned as the _only_ place of beauty—the very loveliest land between the seas, home of courteous warriors and charming damsels."

"Ah, yes," Boromir replied, sighing dreamily and pausing. "Dol Amroth of the ships. May the Silver Swan sail ever on—"

"And never be defeated," the three cousins finished in unison, grinning widely as they mentally recounted the summer they'd spent together at Dol Amroth in Imrahil's house and the mischief they'd caused.

Meanwhile, said Uncle watched on in silent amusement. When his two nephews and son looked at him expectantly, as if waiting for either pleased laughter or a scolding, he raised an eyebrow in a look that he was famous for back in his own city.

"If you three will but stop behaving like mischievous children and begin acting like the noble companions I supposedly have with me, I believe the time has come to deliver our message to the King of the Mark."

A servant placed a pair of smooth black leather reins in the prince's hand, and Imrahil mounted his horse smoothly, giving the three young men another look once he was seated. Boromir gave the other two a grin that might have said, 'Cheer up. He's laughing on the inside,' and swung up on his own steed.

Exchanging a bemused glance, Faramir and Amrothos mounted as well. It wasn't often that they made the prince of Dol Amroth smile, but they certainly tried often enough. Somewhere in a tiny corner of his mind, Faramir relished the freedom to joke, to posture and tease with his cousin. His father never tolerated such indiscipline as Imrahil had encouraged, but the summer spent in Dol Amroth had done him and Boromir more good than anything else.

Once the tents of the encampment had been packed away and all was in order, Prince Imrahil gave the order to move out, and the guard from Gondor began marching slowly toward the city of Edoras.

_**To be continued...**_


	2. Chapter 2

_Chapter 2_

Éowyn stormed out of the Golden Hall, hands clenched in fury. Within a few steps she had reached her brother, grabbing him by the arm and restraining herself with difficulty from shouting in the vast quietness of the outer antechamber.

"Where is it?" she hissed, giving him a menacing glare.

Éomer feigned innocence and looked surprised, tactlessly breaking her hold on his arm as he turned aside and began walking toward the outer doors.

"Where is what, sister dear?"

Éowyn followed with as much dignity as she could manage while struggling to keep up with her brother's long stride. Her long skirts shortened each of her own ladylike steps, but she gathered them with a smothered growl and marched doggedly after him.

"You know _what_, Éomer. You know exactly what I'm talking about because you're the one who took it."

Éomer dignified her with a backward glance, but didn't slow his steps, much to his sister's vexation.

"Really, Éowyn," he said, a twinkle of mischief escaping his brown eyes. "I have no idea what you're going on about."

Impatient with his denials, Éowyn grabbed his arm and put all her strength into jerking him to a stop.

"My sword," she said in a low voice. "I left it beside my bed this morning and it's not there anymore. I tried to find you before supper but you were conveniently," she gave him a meaningful look, "'called away' to speak with Uncle. Now _where is it_?"

Éomer sighed and gave her a look that has often passed from older sibling to younger.

"Now, Éowyn. Just because I didn't let you join us on the hunt the other day doesn't mean I stole your sword."

"But you did," Éowyn insisted, jabbing him with a sharp fingernail and thanking Eru belatedly that she hadn't cut them in ages as she watched him wince. "Hild said she saw you coming out of my room holding my sword. And so I repeat, dear brother of mine: _where is it_?"

Éomer met her gaze evenly, and then looked aside to nod casually to a friend of his who was passing. When he looked back at her, there was something akin to annoyance in his eyes.

"If you must know, delight of my eyes, I took your sword for safekeeping."

This time, Éowyn's look was one of triumph, and then of confusion.

"Safekeeping?" When Éomer did not answer directly, she continued. "You'd better be glad, brother, that I don't have it right now. Or you'd be a pretty sight indeed. In fact, if you don't tell me what's going on very quickly, you'll find yourself—,"

"Well I can't very well tell you if you keep filling the air with meaningless threats, now can I?" her brother retorted.

She shut her mouth and waited. Patiently. After a moment of making her wait, Éomer continued.

"A company of men has been sighted riding from the north. They're headed in our direction."

Éowyn's eyes widened in excitement and fury.

"So you took my sword? Are they our enemies, Éomer, that you should be concerned about me joining in a battle against them?"

Éomer let out a weary sigh and leaned up against one of the walls.

"No, Éowyn. They're from Gondor. And last time you had anything to do with nobility from Gondor the Steward's son ended up with a bruise on his cheek the size of a horse's eye!"

Éowyn glared at him. In fact, she glowered at him. Younger siblings despise being reminded by their elders about past incidents such as the one mentioned by Éomer. All the memories that remained in Éowyn's mind of the occasion were mostly centered around the fight with the Orcs that had taken place; her first fight. Oh. And that boy named Faramir whom she'd fought with.

"Really, Éomer," she said, drawling the words to emphasize her displeasure. "I was just a child then. And anyway he's the one who started the fight. I'm sure I know much better now. And as for my sword, I might need it, what with the horse-nappings and all."

"The horse-nappings," Éomer scoffed, rolling his eyes. "Éowyn, it's nothing more than a few boys getting restless and pulling a prank. You always exaggerate things and make them sound worse than they really are."

"Always? Now you're the one exaggerating," his sister replied irritably. "And you're trying to change the subject. You had no right to take my sword, even to protect me!"

"All right," Éomer said, holding up his hands in mock surrender. "That's not why I took the sword. I only wanted to study the design on the blade and hilt. It _was_ mother's, you know," he added, softly.

Sympathy replaced the anger in her eyes. How many nights had Éowyn sat alone in her room, tracing the curling lines on the blade of her mother's sword? She had already memorized every line, every nick and bump in the hilt. Éomer had taken the blade of his father, of course, but though it was a good weapon, it was not a blade as ancient as Théoden's sister had once carried.

They'd both received their parents' swords from their uncle on the day of their sixteenth birthday. Éowyn's had been only a few months before, and the novelty of owning the sword of her mother was still fresh in her mind and heart.

"You still should've asked," she managed to mumble, though all her fury was now gone. "Where is it?"

Éomer looked away, his ears turning bright red.

"Well…I'm not…exactly sure where…"

"You _lost_ it?"

Éowyn the Angry was back in a flash. Her eyes glinted like steel, but she sighed and rolled them heavenward.

"However shall you live in this world without my help? Where did you have it last?"

Éomer shrugged.

"The armory, maybe. Not my room. I remember taking it from my room and going somewhere…it might have been the kitchen, I suppose. Or the Great Hall. But then…"

With a grimace, Éowyn turned and marched in the general direction of Meduseld, leaving Éomer standing with a bewildered expression on his face as he tried to remember the last place he'd seen her sword. But as she turned a corner and disappeared from sight, he grinned and glanced down at his feet to make sure he hadn't tracked in any hints.

"That should keep her busy for a while. She'll never think to look in the stables…"

* * *

Riding through the gates of the wall that surrounded the city of Théoden, Faramir felt a thrill of destiny wash over him. At last, as he'd promised himself so many years before, he'd found his way to Edoras.

The workmanship of the gates and houses inside them were made of crude wood, rough and primitive in comparison to Minas Tirith's white stone, but Faramir found the look appealing—in a rough, primitive kind of way. The proud standard of Rohan fluttered high above the visiting warriors, a white horse on a green field. The standard bearer for Prince Imrahil hefted his banner higher, and the Silver Swan on blue and White Horse on green touched briefly in a gentle caress.

For an instant, Faramir wondered what his cousin was thinking about. It being Amrothos, he was probably pondering how quickly a well lit torch could turn the great city into a pile of blackened rubble (not that he would ever try such a thing), or how the people might respond if told that all their horses had suddenly escaped all at once.

_Never a peaceful moment with Ro around_, Faramir thought with a wry grin. However he was too fond of his cousin to wish him ill or think him a nuisance. He was more like a younger brother—something Faramir had never had but had always wanted. Amrothos certainly didn't have any objection to that relationship, finding it a relief to find someone to laugh at his jokes and pull pranks with—and on.

At the stable they were met by a young man with light brown hair that hung past his shoulders. He looked vaguely familiar, and indeed, introduced himself as Éomer, nephew to King Théoden. He and Boromir exchanged greetings and formalities, and, jerking a head toward their mounts aimed at the stable boys, the young man led them up the stairs toward the King's Great Hall.

Once they at last stood before the King of the Mark, Boromir knelt calmly before King Théoden's throne without so much as a nervous glance toward his uncle or Faramir.

"My lord, we come with a request for aid from Gondor. Our lands are under siege by the evil forces of Mordor. Lord Denethor, the Steward of Gondor, humbly requests that Théoden, King of Rohan, send men and arms to assist in the protecting of Middle Earth."

Théoden watched Boromir gravely, his eyes serious and thoughtful. Then he looked up to Imrahil.

"And you, sir? Have you a message as well?"

Prince Imrahil bowed smoothly, a well practiced gestured, Faramir was certain. Amrothos watched with an awed look as his father spoke to the King of the Mark.

"I am Prince Imrahil of Dol Amroth, your majesty, and have come only as the leader of the Steward's guard, and as protection for his sons."

"Sons?" Théoden asked quietly, turning his gaze to Faramir. "Of course. I believe we have met before. Faramir, is it not?"

Faramir bowed stiffly and gave the king a solemn smile. Perhaps he remembered the incident with that girl…the king's niece, wasn't she? Funny, dramatic little thing. Packed a wallop of a punch. But it'd been ages since their last meeting, and he hardly remembered her.

"You'll remember my son, Theodred, and nephew Éomer," Théoden added, indicating the two young men standing on the right side of his throne. "And this, my advisor, Grima."

The advisor's face was a sickly shade of white, and he gave Imrahil's company a wan smile before turning and whispering in his king's ear. Théoden nodded at his words, and stood to face Boromir.

"We are afraid, Boromir son of Denethor, that there is little Rohan can do for your lands. Cave trolls and wargs have been in abundance this year, and our numbers have fallen to nearly half their usual strength. If your need is not urgent, we would urge you to stay a few days here in our stronghold while we send word to see how many men we can offer without causing danger for our own realm."

Faramir glanced at his brother and saw the tightening of his jaw that indicated his growing impatience, but really there was little any of them could do. Rohan had no duty to Gondor, save that Gondor was the only thing between them and the enemy. There had been an alliance once—many years before. And still, some vague hint of an agreement lingered in the air between the two nations, but time and an uneasy silence from the enemy had corroded the bonds that first joined the two in friendship.

"On behalf of Gondor, I thank you, Théoden King," Boromir said with a great effort. "We would be honored to remain in Edoras for the time it takes you to consider our request and inquire as need may be."

He bowed again and stood, looking like he was struggling to keep silent while the blood of his people was being spilled with every passing second. While Théoden spoke with Grima (presumably about their lodgings) Boromir quietly asked his brother to go make sure the horses were seen to. Faramir agreed readily, feeling stifled inside the dark, heavy atmosphere of the hall. Amrothos, spotting him as he made his way toward the exit, came along as well.

"Where are you going?" his cousin asked once they were out in the open air and could breathe more freely again.

"The stables. Boromir knows I get claustrophobic when there are many people about." Faramir flashed him a grin. "Besides, there's nothing else to do except wait for the servants to show us to our quarters."

"So how is going to the stables more exciting than that?" Amrothos wanted to know. His cousin shrugged.

"Who knows? Maybe something will happen."

_**TBC….**_


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: At last...the chapter we've all been waiting for! I am going to try to update every other day (or every other two days) or so. The updates shall be rapid and timely, that I promise you. And as for you people who add this to your alert list without reviewing (the writer pauses and gives all mentioned a steely glare)...well, you don't get any cookies. :) Enjoy!**

_Chapter 3_

It was with a cold, steely glare in her eyes that Éowyn entered the door of the stable. She hadn't realized until scouring half the castle for her sword that her brother had smelled like a horse. As if he'd come directly from the stables for supper.

Of course, that didn't necessarily mean that he'd hidden her sword in the stable, but considering the look on Éomer's face as he'd tried to remember its location, and taking into account the fact that she couldn't find it in any of the other places he'd mentioned, he probably had.

Lifting her skirts so as not to dirty them in the flying dust of the stable floor, Éowyn ducked a low beam and breathed in her favorite smell: the musty scent of horse. It was darker in the stable than it had been outside, and it took her eyes a moment to adjust. While everything still appeared black, she heard a noise like someone scraping a knife across a stone; a grinding, grating noise. She was about to ask who was there, but stopped before a word escaped her lips.

_Perhaps it's the person who's responsible for the disappearance of those horses_, she thought with a thrill. _Now Éomer can't possibly call me over-exaggerating and dramatic. Not if I catch the thief in the act._

Holding a hand to her eyes and stepping into the darkness, Éowyn barely made out the outline of a stall before her. Sidestepping that, she plunged toward the source of the sound—only to pause for direction and find that it had disappeared. As her eyes adjusted and she looked around, she could see no one.

_How strange._

She walked to her horse's stall and searched for her sword. Nothing. With a grim, set expression and thoughts of revenge directed at Éomer, she went further into the stable and set about searching his mare's stall.

A glint of light caught her eye. She grinned in triumph as she dislodged her beautiful sword from under a saddle blanket where her brother had so carelessly left it (or hid it?). It was still in its sheath, which was made of a smooth brown leather and laced with gold patterns that twisted like sand in the wind.

_I wonder why Uncle won't tell me her name,_ Éowyn wondered pensively, drawing the sword and testing its weight contentedly. _Perhaps he wants me to give her one of my own._

The stable door creaked, and Éowyn stiffened. Two men entered, their silhouettes giving her no clue as to their identity, save for the fact that they were tall and lean. Pausing at the entrance, the shorter of the two pointed at a stall that held a dark horse. Éowyn stared. The only horses that had disappeared had been black or of a dark color. She gripped her sword hilt tightly and edged toward the door of the stall.

Éomer's mare nipped her sleeve gently, as if to ask what she was doing. Éowyn ignored her and crept forward, watching to see if the men made any sudden movements. One turned, Éowyn catching a glimpse of his face as he did so.

_He's not one of the stable hands,_ she thought, swallowing the sudden fear that rose in her heart. _I've never seen him before in my life._

They were whispering about something. In her experience, whispering always meant secrecy, and secrecy in a place where something had been stolen was quite definitely suspicious.

_If they are the horse-nappers,_ Éowyn thought grimly, taking another careful step forward, _then they'll get more today than they bargained for.

* * *

_

When Faramir and Amrothos reached the stables, they found it as quiet as a tomb. Faramir stepped inside first, hesitating only to let his eyes correct to the darkness of the stable. It amazed him that Gondor and Rohan differed even in the design of their stables, Gondor's being large and full of light, and Rohan's being smaller, musty, and dark.

It was Amrothos who spotted their horses, whispering the news to his cousin. The dark Gondor horses were taller and more impressive than their stocky Rohirric relations, but it was obvious that the horses of Rohan were bred with strength and cleverness in mind.

However as they crept slowly toward the back of the stable where their horses were stalled, Faramir had the distinct feeling that someone was watching him. Then he wondered why he and Amrothos were creeping and whispering. The silence, he realized, was deafening, and it felt like a sacrilege to break it with even so much as a footstep. He wondered if he should call out to the stable hands to alert them of his presence, but before he had even opened his mouth, he heard a clatter from behind.

His sword was drawn almost before he had turned all the way around to meet their attacker. With his free arm he shoved Amrothos out of the way, and the attacker's sword met his own with a clash of steel on steel.

The warrior twisted his blade around and tried to swat at his legs with the flat of his blade, but Faramir blocked the blow easily. He feigned a thrust at the warrior's side, but instead came down with the flat of his blade on the figure's right arm, naught more than a stinging slap.

This seemed to anger the strange warrior, for he feinted a blow at Faramir's hip and struck upward with his hilt, delivering a solid cloud to his cheek. Faramir grunted, wincing at the stinging ache that made his cheek numb, and after locking blades with the warrior, punched him in the stomach.

The figure let out a gasp of air and folded forward. Faramir came round again, this time using the warrior's own technique and twisting around, striking the back of his legs with the flat of his sword.

It worked. The figure stumbled and hit the ground hard, sword flying inches away. His eyes now adjusted, he could still see the figure only vaguely in the dim light. He could see that the warrior was small and lithe, dressed in a long brown—dress?

With a gasp, Faramir stumbled back. It couldn't be—but it was.

"A girl?" Amrothos said, voicing both his and his cousin's thoughts.

The girl's long blonde hair was tied back in a hasty knot, and her face was pale and determined. As Faramir hesitated, trying to determine the best course of action, she paused and then lunged for her sword, using it to defend herself as she kicked his legs out from under him and rolled to her feet.

"The battle isn't over until your enemy's sword is out of reach," she said, holding her sword point at his throat and staring grimly down at him. With a shock he recognized words that he himself had spoken many years before.

"Is…is that you, Éowyn?"

The girl froze, staring down at him with something akin to confusion.

"Éowyn is my name, though how you came to know it I'm sure I don't know. I've never seen you before in my life."

She glanced at Amrothos, who looking rather angry at seeing his cousin at sword point, and gave him a severe look.

"And don't you try anything, either. My uncle will be pleased to know I've finally caught the horse-thieves who have been robbing us blind."

There was an awkward pause.

"Horse thieves?" Amrothos asked, laughing aloud in relief. "Is that what you think we are?"

"We're not horse thieves, my lady," Faramir said, glancing at her sword worriedly and marveling at how well she had wielded it. "And you're mistaken on another point as well, for we _have_ met before."

Though the years between their meeting had caused the memories to fade, the sight of her face and excitement of the fight they had just fought brought them back in a rushing river of thrill and remembrance. How could he have remembered her as a 'funny, little dramatic thing'? Had he forgotten so swiftly their brief yet wonderful friendship and the words whispered in Elvish on the wind at their farewell?

"I don't know what you're talking about," Éowyn snapped, "I'm quite certain I don't know who you…are…"

She stopped and stared; Faramir could see the wheels turning, and at last a light of recognition lit in her steely eyes.

"Wait…you aren't…Faramir?"

* * *

Her stomach ached from where the thief had punched her, and as she plunged toward the ground she vaguely felt her sword fly from her hand. She landed hard, bruising one hip for sure, the collision jarring her from head to toe. The thief stared down at her, but instead of advancing, stumbled back, as if confused.

"A girl," said the fair-haired one, his eyes wide with something akin to surprise.

Taking advantage of the thief's hesitation, Éowyn leapt for her sword and then kicked the strangers legs out from under him. As he collapsed to the dusty floor, she rolled to her feet in a well practiced combat move and stood, hands trembling and sword pointed at her opponent's throat. A sudden flashback made her blink, and words rose unbidden in her mouth, words that she had practiced applying in every fight she fought.

"The battle isn't over until your enemy's sword is out of reach."

They had been _his_ words. The boy she had fought with so many years before. It had been the one lesson in swordsmanship that she'd never allowed herself to forget, because she knew it could be vital in perhaps the very-near future.

"Is…is that you," the thief said, his voice revealing that he was much younger than she'd originally reckoned. He seemed to be trying to remember something, and at last added, "Éowyn?"

Éowyn felt a moment of shock. How did he know her name? And he had looked shocked at the words…Faramir's words. But surely this was not her friend; this was an older, grimmer warrior.

In a guarded tone, she replied, "Éowyn is my name, though how you came to know it I'm sure I don't know. I've never seen you before in my life."

The fair-haired boy looked as if he was about to pounce at her. She turned so she could keep her eyes on both of them, and then gestured at him with the edge of her sword.

"And don't you try anything, either. My uncle will be pleased to know I've finally caught the horse-thieves who have been robbing us blind."

Even as she said it, she knew she had caught the wrong people. She noted the fine garments they wore and the noble appearance both of them wore like crowns, and knew that these were not the ones who had stolen her uncle's horses.

"Horse thieves?" asked the fair-haired one, laughing aloud. "Is that what you think we are?"

"We're not horse thieves, my lady," said the one on the ground. His dark hair had specks of dust in it now, and a horrid bruise was starting up on his cheek. "And you're mistaken on another point as well, for we _have_ met before

"I don't know what you're talking about," Éowyn said, feeling rather bewildered, "I'm quite certain I don't know who you…are…"

She met his gaze for the first time, and saw with surprise that she _did_ know the silvery eyes of the young man before her.

"Wait…you aren't…Faramir!"

The young man nodded in obvious relief, and Éowyn stumbled back a step. He was older, yes, but it was the same Faramir she had fought so many years before. The same save for a strange grimness in his face, as though he had come face to face with death and pain and come away from the encounter a different person altogether.

"What, Faramir?" the fair-haired boy said, glancing her over appraisingly. "You mean you _know_ this girl?"

"It's been rather a long time," Faramir said, ignoring the boy and gaining his feet, bowing in way of a greeting. "I wasn't certain if you'd remember our…well, our last meeting. It was quite brief."

"Yes, it was, wasn't it?" she replied vaguely, sheathing her sword and slapping at her skirts to dust them off. "It's beginning to come back to me, though. And how was I supposed to recognize you? You've gone and grown up."

"So have you," Faramir replied softly, taking into account the tall, slim figure and fair, noble face. There was something about her eyes, too; harder, more somber, they seemed.

The fair-haired boy cleared his throat, and Faramir took a deep breath, breaking free of the moment.

"Lady Éowyn, this is my cousin, Amrothos, son of Imrahil, the prince of Dol Amroth. Amrothos, Lady Éowyn of Rohan, niece to Théoden King."

"A pleasure, my lady," Amrothos said, gallantly bowing and kissing the hand she extended toward him.

"And what brings you to Rohan, Amrothos, son of Imrahil?" Éowyn asked, glancing at Faramir though the question was directed at his cousin.

"Well really I just—,"

"Wanted to come along to see the land of Rohan," Faramir interrupted with a grin. "Father sent my uncle to watch after Boromir and me, who were to visit your uncle's court and request reinforcements and assistance against Sauron's forces."

A shadow passed over Éowyn's face at this.

"The Rohirrim is stretched as thin as paper over Rohan's plains, for we've lost many men this year to wild beasts and freak accidents."

"So your uncle said," Faramir replied solemnly. He was about to continue and say something about Boromir being impatient when Éowyn stiffened and held up a hand for silence. He stopped and listened.

A grating sound, like that of a rusty hinge on a door, creaked in the near silence of the stable. All three of them looked round anxiously, trying to determine the source of the noise. Éowyn ducked down into a stall; Faramir and Amrothos followed after a moment of hesitation.

"What's going on?" Amrothos hissed, giving Éowyn a strange look.

"Quiet," she whispered back ferociously. "I heard the same noise a few minutes ago, and I just _know_ it's connected to the horse-stealings."

**_TBC..._**


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: Changed updates to every two days. That means the next will be on Friday. And now we've begun getting into cliffhangers (who knows if we'll ever get out again...mwahahaha...). Thank you to all my lovely reviewers...and thank you to those who have not reviewed but are still reading and (hopefully) enjoying the story.**

**And now...  
**

_Chapter 4_

"What horse-stealings?" Amrothos asked impatiently. "The ones you were blaming us for a few seconds ago?"

"He's right," Faramir put in quietly. "You're jumping to conclusions far too quickly."

Éowyn gave him an exasperated glare and then appeared to listen very hard for something. The noise had ceased, though, and all was quiet save for the stamping of hooves and shaking of manes from the horses. Éowyn stood, slowly, and the young men beside her stood as well.

"It's just got to be connected somehow," Éowyn murmured, walking toward the direction the sound had been coming from cautiously. "I'm certain of it."

"How?" Faramir asked curiously.

Éowyn gave him a look.

"I'm not sure. Call it a woman's intuition if you must. Éomer just calls it silly nonsense and an overactive imagination, but he tends to exaggerate."

She entered her horse's stall and poked around underneath the saddle blankets, feeling for any kind of lever or entrance that might lead to a trap door. Amrothos poked Faramir in the arm and whispered in his ear:

"Is she quite all there, this Éowyn? I mean, secret passageways in a stable? And was there really a reason for attacking us? I'm not sure she's quite sane. Or safe."

"She's certainly not safe," Faramir replied dryly, wincing as Éowyn tossed an indignant look over her shoulder, obviously having overheard Amrothos' comment about her sanity. "But she's quite handy with a blade, as you may have seen."

He rubbed his bruised cheek thoughtfully. Éowyn turned back to say something, but noticed the motion and changed what she was going to say.

"Your face…I did it again, didn't I?" This ruefully, as if she was angry with herself. "Éomer must've been right after all. Time hasn't changed my ability to get into trouble—especially with nobles from Gondor."

"Again?" Amrothos hissed at Faramir, who winced.

"I'll tell you about it. Later."

_Much later,_ he added mentally, imagining what his cousin's reaction might be after realizing he'd been beaten by a girl—twice, rather than just once. And the same girl at that.

"At least it wasn't intentional this time," he said to her wryly. "You were only attacking what you thought were thieves—or so I gather. Last time the circumstances were quite different."

Éowyn raised an eyebrow at him.

"Indeed."

The subject seemed to be closed, for she turned back to searching in the stall. Amrothos glanced from her to Faramir, shrugged, and began searching as well. Faramir grinned as he watched his cousin study Théoden's niece every now and again. It was easy to see why. Amrothos had obviously never met anyone like Éowyn before. The women of Rohan were stern and noble, many as ready to wield a sword as a man, whereas the women of Gondor—and Belfalas—were not so well acquainted with the art of war, but were generally more delicate and graceful in manner.

All the young maidens in Minas Tirith had begun giggling whenever he or Boromir passed. The girls in Dol Amroth were a little better, but once they had learned they were sons of the Steward, they were suddenly a little politer, a little more formal, and a little less fun to be around. Lothiriel, Imrahil's only daughter and youngest child, was the exception. Her cousins could've been anything from kings to beggars and she would never have treated them any less affectionately. But even she was more elegant, more formal than this princess of Rohan.

Éowyn noticed his stare eventually and returned it with a curious look. He flushed, though didn't know why, and looked away.

"I know I'm not exactly a lady," Éowyn said after a moment, glancing down at her dusty dress and feeling her mussed hair with a look of extreme frustration. "I do try, though. Éomer says I don't try hard enough, but I can't help being who I am."

"Neither would I want you to be," he replied with a smile.

Her fair cheeks flushed pink, and she opened her mouth to ask what he meant when they both heard something shift with a creak, and then a crash. Both Éowyn and Faramir whirled around to find the source of the noise. Several crates had fallen from where they were stacked neatly against the wall to the floor. Saddles that had been stacked on them were strewn across the dirt. Amrothos was on the ground, having been knocked over by the crates, it seemed, looking at them with wide, apologetic eyes and a nervous look on his face.

"What did you do?" Faramir asked, staring at his cousin and only slightly annoyed.

"I didn't mean to…I mean, the crates…I only just touched them, and…"

Amrothos stuttered for a few seconds without completing a sentence until Éowyn stepped forward and set the first crate right side up. Faramir hesitated, but then joined her in righting the stack of crates near where they had fallen from. Amrothos stacked the saddles against the wall, and at last the mess was practically in order. Éowyn walked over to the wall the crates had fallen from, frowned, and knelt. She brushed back a pile of straw and gasped aloud in astonishment.

"Look at this!" she whispered, turning back to the boys with eyes practically glowing with excitement.

Faramir looked, as well as Amrothos. Underneath where the crates had been stacked, a great wooden slat about the length and width of a horse had been installed in the sandy ground. The crates, full of heavy things and covered in saddles, had been so plainly out in the open that no one would ever have dreamed of unearthing a secret passageway underneath them.

There was a handle on the slat of wood, and Éowyn grabbed it readily and lifted. With a familiar grating noise, the wooden trapdoor slid back to reveal a dark hole in the floor.

"By the ships," Amrothos breathed, staring down at his discovery with amazement and elation. "By the very ships of Dol Amroth."

"I knew it," Éowyn murmured, triumph and resolve melding in her steely gaze. "A blindfolded horse could easily be lowered—or led, with some kind of ramp—down such a passage." She turned to Amrothos with a scornful look. "Mentally unstable indeed."

"Unstable, milady? Never!" Amrothos quipped with a grin. "After all, how can one be unstable _inside_ a stable?"

His cousin and Éowyn both groaned at the pun. Hardly funny, Faramir thought. But that was Amrothos. His jokes were seldom anything more than an amusing play on words, which was really more annoying than amusing at times.

"Whether stable or unstable, I was undeniably right," Éowyn continued, staring down into the darkness as if straining to see its limits. "This is a passageway, and I'm sure it's connected to the horse-thefts."

"Could it not be an old passage that was forgotten many years ago?" Amrothos asked, touching the ground around the hole's edges thoughtfully.

"I've never heard of any such passage," Éowyn replied sharply, but then amended, "But I guess it could be. And someone's found out about it—"

"—And begun stealing horses through it," Amrothos finished for her.

Their eyes met, and Faramir almost laughed at the excitement and triumph that shone in both their gazes. Then, all at once, he felt horribly left out. The realization that he was no longer a child fixed in his mind, and he found himself longing desperately that those days of playful eagerness had not come to an end so suddenly. He wished he could share in their childish excitement, but could not summon the will.

Fortunately, the moment passed quickly. Éowyn glanced up at Faramir and saw the longing in his gaze, and the smile left her eyes. He saw that she, too, was on the verge of growing up, somewhere in between the cheerful, carefree mindset of childhood and the serious persistence of adulthood. She seemed to be about to speak, but she shifted her weight and lost her balance.

Of course, under normal circumstances this would've had hardly any effect except perhaps in making her trip or stumble or something to that accord, but Éowyn was, at that moment, so near the entrance of the passage that she could have easily leaned over and stared down into it. As it was, loosing her balance had drastic consequences.

Her eyes widened as she felt herself falling backwards into the hole. Faramir and Amrothos both leapt forward, just in time to grab her hands as she slid down the entrance into the pit. Her body disappeared into the blackness, but her arms and head were still mostly in the light.

"Can you touch the ground?" Faramir asked, straining to hold onto her. It was an awkward position, as getting any closer to the hole might mean falling in himself.

"I can't feel anything!" gasped Éowyn breathlessly. "Can you pull me back up?"

Faramir leaned forward against his better judgment, and before he knew it, he, too, was sliding forward into the maw of the dark opening. Éowyn shrieked as she fell a little further down, but he clung to her hand and clenched his teeth with the effort. Faramir braced himself against the edge, and Amrothos grabbed onto his arm to keep him back, but it was clearly no good.

"Go…find…help," Faramir managed to say.

Amrothos' eyes widened, and he looked half angry at the idea that he might even consider leaving them behind. But Faramir's grip was slipping even further.

"Let go my arm," he gasped.

This his stubborn cousin would not do. The steward's son's fingers slipped again and then lost hold completely. With a shout from Faramir, a scream from Éowyn, and a surprised yelp from Amrothos, all three of them dropped from the stable of Edoras into the consuming blackness of the passageway underneath.

_**To be continued...**_


	5. Chapter 5

_Chapter 5_

Darkness. Silence. Cold.

Éowyn came to with a start. It was so quiet. And dark. There was no light whatsoever, and not a sound to be heard. And when did it get so cold? She shivered.

She was suddenly aware of a pain in her head and another in her legs. They seemed to be numb, for she could hardly feel them at all. Groaning, she touched her forehead gingerly and tried to sit up. Her legs still didn't respond, and she became aware of a heavy weight on them.

_Where am I?_ she wondered, trying to look around, but seeing only darkness as a result.

She was lying on dirt. Hard dirt. It seemed to be solid rock underneath a layer or so of sand and…was that hay? Hay! Of course! The secret passage in the stables that had been being used by the horse-thieves. Éowyn could've fainted in relief, except that she'd only just come to and was rather happy to remain awake.

All her senses spiked with alarm as she felt something touch her hand. She let out a little scream, and heard another person yelp. The thing jerked back. It had been warm. She was so cold.

"Who's there?" she asked, the brave part of her annoyed that her voice was trembling.

"Amrothos," the voice replied. "Where is Faramir?"

Relief flooded her veins. Taking a deep breath, Éowyn reached down to see what was weighing down her legs and met a warm mass. Cautiously she explored the thing, and then giggled nervously.

"Here he is. Help me get him off my legs."

She heard the boy called Amrothos move closer. His hand grabbed her arm, as if he was trying to get his bearings.

"Where? Is he unconscious?"

"I think so," Éowyn whispered. "He's this way." She grabbed his hand and pointed him in the right direction. "And keep your voice down. The thieves may be down here."

Amrothos grunted, and she felt the weight ease off her legs. Pain shot through them, but it was a good kind of pain. As the blood began circulating again, she sat up and rubbed her head with a moan.

"Are you all right?" came Amrothos' voice again.

"I think so," she replied edging toward him. "My head hurts. What about your cousin?"

For a moment he was silent, but then she heard him say, "I don't know. He isn't waking up." There was a pause. "I'm all right too."

There was a slightly annoyed note in his tone, and she blushed, realizing she hadn't asked as to whether he was injured or not.

"Sorry."

"For what? Doing what everyone else does?" He sounded bitter, but must've realized it, for he immediately followed the comment up with, "Never mind. Where are we, anyway? I can't see the door."

"We must've fallen through—maybe to some deeper level or something," Éowyn replied, feeling around with her hands for the walls. She hit solid rock on her left in one wild lunge. "Or maybe someone closed the trapdoor and hid it again."

"That was jolly nice of them," Amrothos muttered.

Éowyn grinned. She felt around again, and this time her hands closed on something hard, but not heavy. It didn't feel like rock. As she picked it up, she could feel that it was no longer than a sword, and not half as heavy. Perhaps a torch?

"Don't suppose you'd happen to have a tinderbox with you?" she asked quickly.

Amrothos fumbled around for a few seconds, and at last she heard the sound of two stones striking each other. A spark of light appeared, and Éowyn saw, in that spark, the wild-looking face of Faramir's cousin. She handed him the torch, and after a few tries, he got it lit.

Both of their faces looked pale in the torchlight. Amrothos gave her a look of concern and touched her forehead. Éowyn flinched and drew back.

"You're bleeding," the boy explained gently. "Are you sure you're all right?"

Éowyn touched the wound again, feeling the stickiness of blood with a grimace, and nodded.

"If I'm not, I will be. Where's Faramir?"

Amrothos watched her for another moment, but at last turned to the lifeless form of his cousin. Éowyn crawled over to the young man and looked him over carefully.

"He's still breathing. I don't _think_ any of his bones are broken. It's hard to tell."

"He cushioned my fall," Amrothos said quietly. "And now he won't wake up."

Éowyn shook Faramir gently by the shoulder, but to no end. There was no moving him or shaking him harder for fear he was hurt in some grievous way, so at last Amrothos—who was still holding the torch—stood.

"Let him be. While he sleeps perhaps we can find the way out."

Éowyn stood as well, though her head spun so that she had to grab the wall to keep from falling, and stared into the darkness with wide, frightened eyes.

"Do you think there _is_ a way out?"

"Of course there is," Amrothos replied hastily—perhaps too hastily. "How else would the horse-thieves get the horses out except through an exit?"

Shivering, Éowyn crept a little closer to the torchlight. The silence of the place was unnerving, and there was absolute blackness on all sides of them. Amrothos found himself creeping a little closer to her, for two in the blackness is better than one alone.

They began walking forward slowly, holding hands simply because it seemed the only way to keep from being separated. Amrothos hardly felt a thrill in holding the hand of the princess of Rohan, and Éowyn, who would've been either disgusted or enamored by the connection, barely noticed at all. Both held their other hand out in front, feeling for a wall or something solid to keep from running into it.

They continued forward thus for several yards, but then Amrothos stopped abruptly.

"What?" Éowyn asked, tensing up and wondering if he'd heard something.

"What if we get lost and can't find Faramir again?" Amrothos whispered slowly. "He might be dying, and if we just leave him…"

Not only was this good sense, but it also occurred to both of them at once that three in the dark are even better than two, especially when the third in question is both older and wiser than the two younger. Beside that, neither of them really cared to poke about in the mysterious darkness, even by the light of the torch. Who knew what manner of frightening beasts might be laying in wait for them?

They turned back at once. Neither felt cowardly for doing so, even though Éowyn wanted to say something to make sure Amrothos knew she wasn't going back because she was afraid of going on. She didn't, though. A childish worry, she realized after she'd opened her mouth. She was sixteen; quite old enough to not have to explain her every action to whomever she was with.

Faramir had not moved when they reached him. Somehow Amrothos had been expecting to find him gone or moved in some way when they returned, but that was the result of his overly active imagination. His brothers and cousins were always chiding him for imagining the worst of situations and expecting them to be that way. He couldn't see that it was such a bad thing, for if Faramir had been gone, he would not have been half surprised.

Amrothos crouched down in the dirt next to his cousin and tried shaking him gently again. No response. Éowyn sat down close to him and shivered. The darkness felt like it was closing in around her.

"It's so cold in here."

There is nothing so nice as hearing another human voice when you've had a bad scare and are in a dark, scary place and your cousin is unconscious. Amrothos gave her a reassuring smile, seeing in the torchlight for a split-second the eyes of his younger sister.

"Aye. I suppose we're underground."

It was an absurdly obvious statement. He regretted it as soon as it was out of his mouth, but Éowyn giggled after a moment and he knew the slip had not been utterly useless.

"How observant you are," she said with a grin, feeling the momentary panic relax.

Amrothos shrugged and gave a sigh.

"No one ever said I was the brains of the family. That's Erchirion's department. And Elphir is Father's heir, so he doesn't need brains or good looks."

Éowyn grinned.

"I think I must've got the brains of my family."

"I think you must've gotten both," Amrothos replied cheekily.

There was a moment of silence as Éowyn tried to think up a fitting retort in her surprise and Amrothos realized that he'd said it aloud instead of just thinking about it. But the voice that spoke next belonged to neither of them.

"And I think you must've gotten neither, Ro."

The two younger people looked down in astonishment, and both let out an exclamation that involved the speaker's name and a hurried questioning where they asked about his condition and wanted to know if he had any bones broken or internal injuries or anything of that sort. Faramir watched his cousin and Éowyn with an amused look, rubbing his head where it had knocked against a rock and trying to make sense of their babbling.

At last he managed to derive from their rapid and somewhat confusing remarks that he'd been unconscious for ever so long and they'd been worried about him and there seemed to be no way out.

He tried to sit up, but as he moved pain shot through his head like an arrow and he let out a low moan. He put out his arm to steady himself and felt a jarring pain in it as well, as if he'd been stabbed by a knife. His right arm. His sword arm.

"I think it's broken," he said through gritted teeth, falling back and feeling it carefully with his fingers. "Must've hit it when I fell."

"What should we do?" Éowyn whispered anxiously. "I don't know a thing about broken bones. I mean, I had one once, but it's all a fog in my memory and the healers did everything."

"You broke your arm?" Amrothos asked in a tone that fairly rang with astonishment. He could never imagine his sister doing anything so dangerous as that she might break a bone. Well, not easily, anyway.

"Fell off my horse," Éowyn explained with a ghost of a smile. "I was nine."

"I think," said Faramir abruptly, "that a sling would do the trick."

Fortunately Éowyn was wearing a sash (made of soft but sturdy material) and they fashioned a sort of sling out of that. It did nothing to cure the arm, of course, but it prevented Faramir's every movement from jarring it and causing it to ache all over again. This done, the two others helped him to his feet, and all three stared into the darkness with determined and apprehensive expressions on their faces.

Faramir leaned back against the wall for a long moment, hoping to still the spinning in his head. There was no wound that he could find, but he must've hit it on something during the fall, for there was a buzzing in his ears like that of bees. Éowyn gave him a concerned look, but he gave her a slight smile that was meant to be reassuring.

"I suppose we'd better start looking for the way out," Amrothos said, feeling that the silence was growing unbearable.

"Or should we wait here, do you think?" Éowyn asked suddenly. "Uncle and the others will notice that we're gone eventually. Should we wait here in case they come looking for us?"

"And of course they'll think to look down here," retorted Amrothos in a caustic tone. "The odds of being rescued are—are impossibly against us. And these walls—" here he thumped on one of them, sending little grains of soil raining to the floor, "they're far to deep to shout through for help."

Éowyn looked slightly offended.

"Your people in Gondor might not be capable of finding a secret passageway, but Rohan is different."

"Are you suggesting," Amrothos returned with a flush of surprised anger, "that my father's men are inferior to your uncle's?"

"Well if they can't find something as mundane as a secret passage way they've got to be," Éowyn snapped back.

"Quiet," Faramir said suddenly. He was listening carefully to the silence, for a strange new noise, like that of scampering feet, had sent an uneasy thrill down his spine.

Amrothos and Éowyn both fixed him with startled, angry looks.

"Are you just going to let her insult Father's men?" Amrothos asked loudly.

The silly argument ended quite abruptly when a new voice, grating and gritty like the soil beneath their feet, spoke from the dark recesses of the cavern behind them.

"Heh heh…is they lost, my love? Many many's are lost, losted in the darkness. Never again will they see the pretty moon and sun. For all is the dark…yes, all is the dark, my love…"

**_TBC..._**


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N: Many of you guessed quite correctly as to the voice in the darkness. My compliments. Either your minds are very quick or you've read the books and watched the movies enough to know how the slimy creature talks. However, this is not one of those stories where canon characters just randomly appear merely for the heck of things. I did not intend for Gollum to be in this story. I did not want him to. He literally melted out of the blackness and threw fish at me until I let him in. I do sincerely apologize for subjecting you to reading a fic in which his terrible (and fishy) presence exists.**

**That is all. You may read on. :)**

* * *

_Chapter 6_

Faramir felt Éowyn start next to him and covered her mouth with his hand lest she should scream. Éowyn had not at all been intending to scream (she tended to remain silent when startled) but the hand over her mouth frightened her more than the voice. She clawed it away…and then felt sheepish as she turned her gaze upward and saw that it was Faramir's face above her (but only barely just, for it was _so dark_!).

"Where are they, my love?" hissed the voice in the blackness. "We will find them—yes, we will find them."

Feeling a little more than nervous, Faramir fingered the hilt of his sword with his left hand (of all the times for his right arm to be broken!) and said clearly, "Who are you? And what do you want with us?"

"What do we wants, he asks, my love. What do we wants?"

"Gollum," Amrothos blurted out suddenly.

Éowyn and Faramir both turned to stare, and there came a startled hiss from the mysterious voice.

"What?" Faramir asked. Éowyn grabbed his wrist, yanked his hand away from her mouth, and proceeded to glare at him.

"It's a creature Father told us about once—something the Rangers see in the woods," Amrothos whispered with a fearful glance around. "A grey, skulking creature that was once a sort of halfling. He talks as though there were more than one of him in his head, and calls himself 'my precious' and 'my love'."

Actually, Amrothos had heard it around a campfire, a series of bloodcurdling stories that the hardened rangers or soldiers told to make the younger ones lie awake in their beds for an extra hour or so (which, though he would never admit it, had happened to Amrothos one night or six.). A few heartbeats of silence followed. Éowyn, of course, had never heard of such a creature—nor had Faramir, except by a passing comment or word in jest. The idea that that thing—Gollum—was there in the darkness was enough to make each of their blood's run cold.

"You…in the darkness," Faramir began. His voice was trembling. "Are you Gollum?"

"What has it got in its pocketses, my love?" replied the voice scornfully. "He stole it from us. What do we wants? We wants the precious! Must find the—"

And then the voice cut off—like a tap that's been turned off, or a candle that's whiffed out. Then it began again in a terrified whine.

"He sees us—he knows we're here! He knows we does not have the precious, my love!"

There was a shout from somewhere further away in the blackness—a human sounding shout.

"'e went this way! Past the rocks. I'd bet my life on it."

The creature called Gollum let out a shriek. Suddenly the sound of rocks falling reached the three young peoples' ears, and a long, bony hand came out of the darkness and struck Amrothos (who was holding the torch) full in the face.

"Out with the light," the creature wailed. "Out…before he sees…"

Faramir drew his sword and swung it in the general direction of the beast. Amrothos stumbled back with a bloody lip, stunned by the suddenness of the blow and breathing fast for sheer terror, and Éowyn grabbed for the torch.

"Oi! This way—I 'eard voices!" came another voice from far away, though this one was louder than the one that had spoken before.

"They will find us, precious," sobbed Gollum. "And then they will _make us weep_."

The sound of running feet reached the ears of Éowyn, Faramir, and Amrothos. It grew louder with every second that passed, and at last Faramir whispered, "Put out the torch! We must go further back!"

Éowyn obeyed quickly (if somewhat reluctantly) and Faramir dragged the younger two back until they hit a wall of solid rock. A dim light appeared by where they'd first heard Gollum's voice (the creature seemed to have fled already), and then it rounded a corner and they were blinking in the light of a torch the size of a small tree.

"Don't move," Faramir breathed to the others. "Don't even breathe."

He knew, as all Rangers know, that if you remain still there's a good chance you won't be noticed at all. Éowyn and Amrothos obeyed as best they could—though neither could manage not to breathe.

"Quick, that way!" shouted the young-ish sounding voice of the man who was carrying the torch. "We mustn't let them see the beasts—Mordeth will have our heads!"

_Mordeth_, thought Éowyn with a shiver. It sounded too much like Mordor to be anything but evil. Suddenly, a cold, clammy hand grabbed her arm from behind and dragged her back. Éowyn really did scream this time, and there was utter silence in the wake of the shrilly piercing sound.

"Blast," muttered Amrothos. "They'd have to be deaf to not hear _that_!"

As Éowyn struggled against the cold, bony fingers that clutched her arm, she felt another hand, warm and solid and friendly, clasp hers and draw her away from the thing in the darkness.

"It's all right," Faramir whispered. "Just stay calm. Nothing's going to hurt us."

Éowyn swallowed a whimper.

"It's got my arm. That horrible, nasty Gollum thing. At least, I think that's what it is."

Faramir's fingers grasped her's more tightly. Still struggling against Gollum's grasp, Éowyn drew closer to her friend.

"Quick," whispered the rasping voice of the creature in the darkness, "they mustn't find the precious. Mustn't tell them we're here, precious. They'll kill us until we tell them about Bagginses, and Shire. Don't let them find us, my love. They will make us betray the precious!"

There was such a doleful sound in the creature's pleading such that Éowyn almost pitied it—even as she twisted her arm away from the sticky grip. There were voices in the tunnel, voices that were coming nearer.

"Thought I heard someone scream," said a low voice, and then light shone full in the faces of Faramir, Éowyn, and Amrothos. The three young people blinked as the torchlight approached. Faramir's eyes adjusted more quickly than the others', and the sight that reached his eyes was not a pleasant one.

Three men stood in the tunnel before them. Two of them bore large torches that could've done well as giant matchsticks. The third had his sword drawn, and the expression on his face was swiftly shifting from surprise to a smirking leer.

"Well, now. What have we here? Three young cubs that have lost their way beneath the mountains?"

"The mountains?" Despite her fear, Éowyn was very confused. There were no mountains nearby—save the ones to the south and west, the ones that bordered Gondor. But no matter how near the mountains were, they certainly weren't _beneath _them. They were just under (or perhaps in the hill beneath) Edoras.

"Yes, mountains, cub, unless ye're so lost ye cannot even tell ye're underground!" the man chortled back. Then he paused. "'ey Grum—go a bit nearer with that torch, so's I can see 'em better."

The man called Grum did as he was asked, and Faramir's hand tightened on the hilt of his sword, as did Amrothos's. Éowyn would've grabbed for her's, but she'd either left it in the stable or it had dropped into the blackness when she'd fallen. _Blast_. Just the sort of place when she would need her mother's weapon, and what did she do but _lose _it!

"Well, I'll be bound," muttered the man with the sword after squinting at their faces. He was short and stout and he held the sword as if he meant to use it as a club. "It's a gel." (This was the way the man pronounced 'girl'.) "Yes…a gel and two young lads. Tell me, cubs, what be ye doin' here so far from yer den?"

Éowyn got the feeling that the man had either been raised by bears, or spent a lot of time with them. Amrothos thought he was likely a bear-hunter. Faramir had a feeling that it was mere bluster and show that the man had picked up just to intimidate those who couldn't recognize it for what it was.

The three exchanged a glance, and then Éowyn spoke the words that neither of the boys really wanted to say.

"We're lost, sir. We fell into…a hole, and we can't get back up."

The man stared at her for a long moment. There was a greedy evil that sparkled in his beady black eyes that made Faramir and Amrothos' hands tighten on their sword or short sword, respectively. Éowyn, having no weapon, had to be satisfied with the knowledge that the others were well armed.

"Lost, eh, gel? Then we're in much the same boat, ye three cubs and my men." The man turned and stared at the flaming torch for a long moment before he continued. "We first entered this dark realm in Lossarnach by the end of the river Celos, by way of a tunnel into the Ered Nimrais. We have stumbled beneath the mountain in search of light for nigh on a month now."

"Lossarnach?" exploded Amrothos before either Éowyn or Faramir could stop him. "You mean the passage is _that_ _long_?"

There was a pregnant silence that followed as the three men stared at them with renewed curiosity, and Amrothos realized what he'd said and began muttering words under his breath, words about which his father would've had something to say.

"We are far from Lossarnach, then?" the short man asked, licking his lips. "What lands are above? Tell us, my young cubs. Do some poor lost men a favor, won't ye?"

Éowyn gathered up the courage to glare at the man ferociously, and spat the words, "Don't pretend ignorance. We know you're the horse-thieves we've been looking for, and if you try to deny it, we'll…we'll..."

She let the words trail off because it occurred to her at that moment that they didn't really have anything with which to threaten the men. However, the men did not look worried—just quite earnestly confused.

"'orse-thieves? Now that's an idea," guffawed the man called Grum. "We'd not be so sore of foot had we some 'orses to ride."

"They know the way out," growled the other one, the large man who was holding one of the torches. "Make 'em show us the way, Farothul. Before we go blind for lack of light. These is the last torches we've got—unless you've got some hid in your pack. We're at the end of the trail. Make 'em take us to the light."

Farothul—the man with the sword, it seemed—wetted his lips again and stepped forward. The three young people edged away.

"Now looky, cubs," whispered the small man. "We won't 'urt ye—long as ye help us, that is. We're lost—that's true enough. And when our torches are gone, we'll be worse off than creatures that wander blindly through the blackness."

"You mean like Gollum?" asked Amrothos. The men stared at him, and with an apologetic glance at Éowyn and Faramir, the young man began his quiet cursing again.

"What'd ye know of Gollum?" asked Farothul in a quiet, dangerous voice. His grip on the sword tightened visibly. "Speak quickly, cubs. I will 'ave it from ye if I have to kill ye to know."

Although Faramir and Amrothos had no qualms whatsoever about mentioning the creature that had attacked them from the darkness, Éowyn felt again the little jab of pity she'd felt at the pitiful thing's voice. Before the others could speak, Éowyn took another step back and replied, "Nothing. We've heard the stories around the campfire, of course, but naught else."

When the men kept staring at her, she added innocently, "Why? Are you looking for him?"

"As a matter of fact," said the short man, taking another step toward them, a grim glower on his ugly features, "we are."

**_To be continued..._**


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N: Last night I was up at 2 because**

**THE VOYAGE OF THE DAWN TREADER TRAILER IS OUT!**

**Go watch it on youtube or something. It'll be out December 10th. Go Narnia.**

**Thank you to all my reviewers! This chapter's cliffhanger isn't really a cliffhanger...but there's still plenty of tension going on. Enjoy...**

_Chapter 7_

Éowyn felt a shudder coming as she continued to back away from the three men who were staring her down. Faramir laid a hand on her arm and said to the men, "You are hunters of this 'Gollum', then?"

"In a manner o' speaking," muttered Grum, but stopped when Farothul shot him a glare.

"Just point us toward the tunnel's exit, if ye please, cubs," the short man said to the three. "Are we still in Lossarnach, then? Or have we gone further north than we'd reckoned?"

When none of the young people replied, he pointed his sword at Amrothos.

"Ye—the talkative one. Where'd we come up if we dug a hole to the surface?"

Amrothos glanced at first Faramir, then Éowyn. They both shook their heads 'no', so he did the same, except at the man on the other side of the sword.

"What, all ye know is curses?" Farothul sighed and shifted his gaze to Faramir. "And ye—the tall one. Ye're older than the other cubs. Surely ye wouldn't mind helping out another man in need. I can offer payment—it's not much, but it's more than a day's wages, I can tell ye that."

Faramir did not answer, even to reply that he had no need for twenty days' wages—much less merely one. With a scowl, the man looked down at Éowyn.

"Then ye, pretty one. If one of ye doesn't speak up soon, I'll 'ave to start usin' this sharp pointy object, much as I'd regret it."

"When I say," whispered Faramir so that only Amrothos and Éowyn could hear, "run to the left."

Farothul grew angrier still when no one answered.

"Per'aps swords don't scare ye, then. Is fire more like it, cubs?" he snarled, snatching the torch out of Grum's hand. "Do ye yield, or must I burn the truth out of ye?"

He stepped forward yet again, and the tension suddenly became to much to bear. Faramir felt again the whisper of wind coming from the left, and shouting, "NOW!" he turned and fled toward the fresh air.

With each step he took on the rough stones, the greater was the pain that flooded through his broken arm. He clutched it tightly to his chest to minimize the jarring, but it was no good. At last he just gritted his teeth and staggered on as best as he could. Éowyn and Amrothos were fast runners, and a few strides ahead of him, but Éowyn seemed to be stumbling slightly as she ran.

There was no light to guide them, for of course they'd put out their torch, but Faramir could hear their pursuers shouting as they followed close on their heels. Just as a stitch was beginning in his side, he heard a yelp from ahead (it sounded like Amrothos) and then hit something very hard and very solid. It seemed to be a rock wall—and that meant a dead end.

"There's no way out!" Éowyn's voice whimpered from the darkness to his right. "It's all rock to the right!"

"And to the left," Amrothos replied gloomily.

Faramir felt a spike of alarm. He had felt the wind, hadn't he? Or had it been a mere illusion, a hallucination brought on by pain and the blackness surrounding them? Whatever it had been, it did not matter now: they were trapped.

A light appeared behind them, and the three turned as one to face Farothul and his men. The short man grinned nastily, brandishing his weapon, and said, "Ye see, my cubs? There is no escape from the Hunter."

Faramir and Amrothos both drew their swords—Faramir awkwardly, with his left hand. Éowyn stayed well behind the two boys, feeling around in the hopes of finding a loose rock on the ground or wall, but coming up with nothing in the way of a weapon.

"Now, cubs," said Farothul a little more gently than before. "There's no need to fight. We only want to get to the surface—like ye, I'll be bound."

Faramir nodded at the torch that Grum held in his beefy fist.

"You mentioned 'burning answers out of us'? How if we are as lost as you, sir, and there are no answers to be burned?"

The man laughed, though it was obviously a forced laugh.

"Aw, cub. Ye didn't think I meant it, now, did ye? It was only a bit of fun."

The man-whose-name-they-did-not-know was moving forward slowly, and, unable to bear the tension any longer, Amrothos dove at him with his sword. Moving so swiftly that Éowyn hardly saw the movement in the torchlight, the man twisted out of the way, grabbed Amrothos by the arm, and half-threw him into the rock wall. After holding him there for a moment, the man wrested the sword away from the son of Imrahil and held it to Amrothos' own throat.

"Give in, cub," growled Farothul to Faramir, whose mind was working overtime in trying to find a solution to this mess they seemed to have gotten into. "Make any move of attack and yer friend gets to know the edge of the blade a little better than he would, perhaps, like."

Amrothos was trembling (with fury, most likely) and his teeth were bared in a feral snarl of frustration. His eyes said, "Don't listen to them! Hack your way to freedom, cousin, and never mind me." But Faramir knew better than that. He looked at Éowyn, who kept glancing back and forth between him and Amrothos, and then moved to hand her his sword. His cousin caught his breath as the blade penetrated the skin of his neck, and a dark stream of blood appeared.

"Drop it, cub," Farothul said in a low voice. "The gel's no prize when it comes to looks, but I'd wager she's handier with that blade than we'd like."

Faramir's sword clattered on the ground, echoed by a furious gasp from Éowyn. No prize when it comes to looks indeed! The man who was holding Amrothos and Farothul exchanged a look, and then the man pulled the sword from Faramir's cousin's throat and flung him toward Éowyn and Faramir.

The nameless man held the two torches while Grum bound their wrists tightly in front of them. Faramir gritted his teeth when the man reached him, but instead of being rough with his broken arm, Grum tied his hands very gently, and a little farther apart than the others.

"Y'see, cub," said Farothul when Grum was through. "We don't mean ye any harm. Give us no trouble and we'll have no reason to hurt ye."

The third man spoke up unexpectedly in their favor as Grum tied another line through each of their bonds, so as to link them together.

"Why don't we let 'em go, Faro? They're just kids—and as lost as we. We'll have to share our food, and travel is slower with prisoners."

"Ah, Djem. The voice of reason and logic," Farothul muttered under his breath. Then louder, "Because, Djem. They've seen us now—and they know our plans. And if they can't lead us out, perhaps they can lead us to Gollum. The gel's reaction seemed a little…" he paused and leered at Éowyn, "…suspicious."

The three young people remained silent, and Farothul let out a quiet growl.

"They know something. And they'll tell us, too—as soon as their bellies start to groan."

The conversation seemed closed at that point. Farothul told Grum to mind the prisoners, and the other man, Djem, to come behind. He, Farothul, was to lead, and as he marched ahead, greasy hair gleaming in the yellow torchlight, Éowyn wondered just what exactly this man was.

An eerie silence hung about the dark walls of the tunnel as the six marched onward. Farothul, Grum, and Djem seemed to be listening—probably for Gollum, Éowyn thought with a shudder.

_Perhaps,_ she thought, _if we tell them that we did see Gollum, they'll let us go free. Perhaps they'll even help us find our way back._

She didn't know why she was refusing to tell the greasy man about that strange, grasping creature. She certainly wasn't protecting it because she felt she and it were on the same side, but all the same, there was such a pitiful look in its eyes…perhaps she could tell later, when it had a chance to escape. Nothing should die trapped in the darkness. Not even Gollum.

They stopped after about three hours of stumbling through the corridors of blackness, lit only by the sweet gleam of the torches. Djem built a small fire using some black rocks that Éowyn had never seen before, but that Faramir and Amrothos had seen used. Grum checked the ropes on their hands, and then tied the rope that held them all together to a tall stone that had white streaks going down it—bat dung, Farothul told them with a toothy grin.

Then Grum took out a pot from his satchel, walked off a ways, and then returned with the vessel full of water.

"An underground stream," Faramir whispered to the other two. "The water is said to be highly mineralized—but drinkable."

Grum set the water to boiling, in the meantime adding bits of what looked like meat and vegetables to the pot. The 'vegetables' he used were mushrooms, which he brought back at the same times at the water, and several tall strands of a weedy-looking moss that was growing on the wall of the cave. Éowyn's stomach turned at the thought of eating moss, but her appetite returned as her nose met with a very pleasant odor, not unlike that of roasting potatoes.

She glanced at the boys. Both of their gazes were locked on the kettle and spoon—especially when Grum began pouring the stuff into little pewter bowls. One of their stomach's grumbled, and Farothul glanced their way.

"Hungry, are we cubs?"

Faramir looked deliberately away, but Amrothos seemed fascinated by the steaming stew. Éowyn's stomach convulsed—how long had it been since dinner?—and she licked her lips and cleared her throat.

"Perhaps we could make some sort of pact."

Farothul's eyes jerked away from the boys and lit upon her, and he grinned.

"So, it's the girl who's the leader of the lost cubs." Éowyn glared at him. "Hunger is a powerful thing, ain't it?"

"You see, sir," Éowyn continued, ignoring the man, "if I were allowed a few words in private with my friends, we might be willing to reveal to you a few things you might…wish to know."

Farothul exchanged a look with Grum and Djem and shook his head for reply.

"No. Ye'll come up with some lie to get yer bellies full."

"I give you my word as a warrior—" Farothul let out a growling rumble of laughter that the Lady of Rohan graciously ignored, "that we will tell you only the truth."

"Yer word…" he scoffed, then glanced at Faramir and raised an eyebrow. "Ye, lad. Ye give yer word?"

Faramir hesitated, but jerked a nod.

"Aye," and then, "Though, I assure you, the lady's word is as good as mine."

Éowyn braced herself for more amused laughter, but felt a flash of surprise when Farothul merely nodded musingly.

"Hmm. I'll not doubt it next time, then." He stared hard at Faramir for a good minute, and then jerked his head. "One minute. And then I'll expect some answers."

**_TBC..._**


	8. Chapter 8

_Chapter 8_

Éowyn let out a quiet sigh and moved stiffly toward Faramir. Amrothos joined them after giving the stew-pot a look of longing. Unsurprisingly, he was the first to speak.

"I say we shouldn't tell them anything."

Even in the seriousness of the moment, Faramir had to struggle rather hard to stifle a laugh. Éowyn remained solemn with a little less effort, and touched Amrothos' bound hands gently with hers.

"That's very brave of you, but it's not just for your stomach that I think we should tell them a little of what we know."

Faramir nodded.

"I agree. If we tell them, they might help us—or at least take care of us."

"And who knows?" Éowyn added with a slight smile. "They might know better than us how to find the way to the surface—and then everything will be fine. I'm sure Uncle's going to be simply irate," she added under her breath.

Amrothos, who had brightened considerably after hearing that Éowyn was still in favor of telling them something _despite _the fact that he was willing to be brave and starve, furrowed his brow.

"But how do we know they won't kill us after they get the answers to their questions? What if they're assassins—and if they're paid to kill people like us. We know they're after that _Gollum-_thing. Why not semi-royalty, too?"

"Ro's got a point," Faramir said, shifting his weight and glancing at the men gathered by the fire. "We shouldn't tell them who we are—just some stable-boys for the royal stable, and you, Éowyn, can be a kitchen servant. If they ask us that sort of thing at all."

Éowyn nodded her agreement, though she did mutter, "We have stable-_girls _too, you know."

"So, do we let on that we're in Rohan?" Amrothos continued. His stomach croaked, and he squirmed either from embarrassment or hunger. "And what about Gollum?"

"Faramir," Éowyn said quietly, "you tell as much as you think is safe about our position. I'll decide what to tell about Gollum."

"What about me?" Amrothos whispered.

Grum was approaching from behind. Faramir grinned at his cousin and shook his head.

"You stay quiet and play along."

And then Grum was there, frowning and grim. "Time's up," he said gruffly. "Faro wants some answers."

The three exchanged a somewhat nervous look, and turned to face the proverbial music. Farothul's face was dark and thoughtful as he watched them approach.

"I'd warn ye against tellin' lies, but I've no intention of maligning yer honor. Ye, boy." He jerked his head toward Faramir. "Where are we?"

Staring straight into the man's eyes, Faramir hesitated, and then replied.

"When we found our way down into this blackness, we were in the land of Rohan."

Djem cursed loudly and kicked at a rock. Éowyn winced (for the rock, not the curse). Farothul abruptly snapped, "Stow it, man," and turned back to watch the three youths. "Rohan, eh? So we've crossed the mountains altogether and come up in the horse country. Next ye'll be tellin' me you're Prince Theodred 'imself, and ye," he gestured at Éowyn and Amrothos with a snort, "his cousins."

Éowyn opened her mouth, but Faramir spoke up before she could.

"Very funny. But we're just as lost as you are down here—fell through a hole and couldn't find a way back up. Do you know these tunnels well?"

"Do we?" scoffed Djem. "Why, we've been over ever' inch of 'em lookin' for...for…"

"Gollum," Éowyn said quietly. "And yes, we saw him. He grabbed my wrist and tried to drag me away—afraid of the light, I think."

The three men exchanged a glance and Farothul nodded slowly.

"Sounds like 'im alright. Nasty little beasty, 'e is." He stood staring at them for a moment more, thinking, and then gestured at the fire.

"All right, Grum. Spoon 'em some stew."

Amrothos let out a quiet yelp of joy. When the man called Grum handed him what looked like a tortoise-shell filled with stew, it was all he could do to drink it without spilling it down his shirt-front. Éowyn dove into hers with equal fervor, but Faramir, though just as hungry as the two others, began on his more slowly. As Farothul and the others had eaten, the fat man noticed Faramir's gaze.

"There's more in the bowl, cub," he grunted scratching his nose and leaning back against the rock wall of the cave.

Faramir set his tortoise shell down.

"I've had my fill, thank you. I wonder if I might venture a question?"

At a nod from the man, he continued, "Will you help us find our way to the top again?"

Djem snorted in amusement.

"Wouldn't we like to, though. Only problem is we never expected to come up in Rohan."

With a sort of growl, Farothul rose and began pacing back and forth, hands clasped behind his back.

"We might 'ave guessed it, though. Spending so much time underground—so much time traveling. Why a man can cross the mountains twice over with the time we've spent down 'ere." He sighed and shook his head, sinking to his seat again. "There's nothin' for it. Our provisions are running low, and we need new torches and such like. We've got to find the surface—and we may as well take the cubs with us. They may know their way to a village or city where we can trade or purchase what we need."

He turned to Faramir, Éowyn, and Amrothos. "'ow about it, cubs? If ye'll promise not to run off—which would do you more 'arm than good anyhow—we'll let you walk free, and even pay ye for yer services once we're atop."

The three exchanged a quick glance; each saw nothing but eagerness in the others' eyes.

"Done," said Faramir, nodding.

"When can we start?" Éowyn added.

Farothul looked down at the glowing embers of the fire and said, "We'll spend the night 'ere and start tomorrow."

And that was that.

They all slept relatively near to the campfire because of the chill of the cave—and because of the idea that Gollum might be lurking around in the darkness somewhere (although none of them would've admitted it). Despite the wearying day's events, however, Éowyn was not sleepy. Amrothos was snoring several feet to her right and Faramir lay still several feet to her left. The three Gollum-hunters had bedded down on the other side of the fire.

Éowyn stared at the glowing coals steadily, willing herself not to blink. Her eyes ached, as did her head. She wanted to sleep, but her thoughts would not settle down. She closed her eyes and tried to imagine she was in her bed in Edoras. It didn't work. Farothul had given each of them a blanket, and while that was very kind of him, the thin wool did little to cushion her against the lumpy floor. She rolled onto her side, and then her back, and then her other side and stomach again, but couldn't get comfortable.

_I wonder what Éomer is doing right now,_ Éowyn thought. It made her grin to think that he was probably going crazy trying to find her, _especially, _she thought, _since he was so rotten to hide my sword and not tell me where it was._

She did feel a pang of regret to think that her uncle and cousin were also most likely very worried. And Faramir's uncle and brother as well. Éowyn started to sigh, but found, instead, that she was choking back a sob. How strange. She wasn't sad or...or frightened. She wasn't, couldn't be, never ever would be.

"Éowyn."

With a gasp she turned halfway and saw that Faramir was watching her with an odd look on his face.

"Are you all right?"

He shifted his arm slightly, and Éowyn felt a twinge of conscience. Her all right? And him with a broken arm? Silly boy.

"Of course I am. How is your arm?"

Faramir smiled slightly. "It'll heal. Can't you get to sleep?"

She shook her head and sighed again. "I can't help but wonder what…what the others are doing right now."

"Worrying about us, you mean?" Faramir finished the unspoken with a wince. "I was thinking about that too."

Amrothos let out a rather loud snore, and they both snickered quietly.

"He's not going to be tired tomorrow," Éowyn grumbled with a small smile, turning on her stomach again. She yawned. "I only hope I can sleep as soundly."

Faramir nodded and yawned as well. "Aye. We should sleep well after what's happened today."

He was, of course, wrong. They did not sleep well_ at all_, because a mere two hours after Faramir finally drifted off to sleep, he jerked awake again to the feel of sharp steel at the back of his neck.

* * *

The stars were like glittering pinpricks in the velvety canvas of the sky. Some formed shapes—the Hunter, the Dragon, the Lyre. Some were brighter than others. Some were clustered closely about each other in an army of white glimmerings.

Yet they were all useless to Boromir, for they could not tell him whence his brother had gone.

His gait, as he marched up the Edoras road to the great hall, was weary and defeated. His hands clenched and unclenched at his sides, a mannerism that betrayed his frustration, because he had never felt this helpless in all his years.

Standing on the stone staircase leading to the hall Boromir saw another man—his uncle. Imrahil leaned against a stone wall with one hand; his other rested on the pommel of his sword. The grim look of determination and worry on his face gave the torch-lit courtyard a feeling of haste, of danger. Of fear.

Boromir reached his uncle and stood beside him in silence, waiting for the elder to speak. At last Imrahil sighed and put his hand to his eyes.

"The guard has searched the entire city. On the morrow, Théodred will lead some men to the villages nearby. This the king has promised."

"We'll find them, Uncle," Boromir said quietly. "Of that I have no doubt."

Imrahil looked at his nephew for the first time that evening, and Boromir saw anger and fear intermixed in the man's red-rimmed eyes.

"I should never have brought Amrothos with me. I should've known he'd find his way into some trouble—and drag your brother into it along with him."

"Faramir needs no help in getting into trouble," Boromir insisted with a slight smile. "Don't blame Amrothos before we know the facts."

"I don't need not know the facts to know that it was his fault," Imrahil replied. His jaw was clenched in silent anger. "Nevertheless, we _will_ find them. We must find them."

"We will, Uncle," Boromir said. "We will."

When his uncle did not reply, Boromir turned and walked to the stables. He'd so casually told Faramir to go check the horses—Faramir had smiled; he knew that Boromir knew that he didn't like being around too many people. There had been no farewell—no hint of uneasiness.

So why did he feel so guilty?

He froze in the doorway. The inside of the stable was lit only by lanterns that were hung in places that were sure not to catch on fire, and he could only just make out a man standing by the haystacks in the corner. The man turned halfway, and Boromir relaxed as he recognized Théoden's nephew, Éomer.

"I wondered if I would find you here," he said quietly, walking toward the young horseman. "Do you think that they were here?"

That was the strange thing. Faramir and Amrothos had not been the only ones to disappear—the girl, Éowyn, had gone missing too. Had they met here, Boromir wondered, glancing around and trying to imagine what might've happened. Had something happened that made them leave?

Éomer did not answer. He was holding something in his hands—reverently. Boromir approached and saw, to his surprise, that it was a sword—a short sword, very different from the kind that he and his uncle wore. On the guard was the gilded head of a horse, and the blade was covered with curling designs.

"It's beautiful," he said quietly, sincerely.

Éomer looked up in surprise, as though he'd not heard him approach, and then looked down at the sword again.

"It is Éowyn's. It belonged to my mother—before she died. Éowyn never went anywhere without it."

His voice cracked at the end of the sentence, and Boromir saw the muscles in the other man's jaw working, as if he was struggling to contain his emotion.

"Theodred is leading a search party on the morrow," Boromir said after a moment or so. "I'll be riding with him."

Éomer looked up and met his gaze as if answering a challenge.

"Hang the morrow! I'd ride out tonight if I could, but…" his words trailed off as he glared down at the sword. "Argh…bother Éowyn. When we find her, I'm going to lock her in her room and…and…and I'll never let her hunt with us again. And I'll keep this—," he made as if to throw the sword down, but changed his mind at the last moment and merely set it down on the straw, violently, "until she learns not to get into so much trouble!"

Boromir grinned slightly.

"Sounds like what my uncle's got in mind for Amrothos."

A stable hand passed them. He had a pitchfork and wheelbarrow, and was headed for the stalls. Éomer watched him pass, and then turned back to Boromir.

"What about your brother? Aren't you worried about him?"

Boromir shrugged and touched his sword hilt for only the briefest of seconds. Words came to his mind, and although they did not speak what was in his heart, he spoke them anyway.

"Faramir's old enough to take care of himself now." After a beat, he added, reassuringly, "Surely we will find them before they can get into too much trouble."

"I hope so," Éomer replied with a sigh, fingering the sword again tenderly. "I only wish I was as certain as you."

"So do I," Boromir muttered under his breath, fingering the hilt of his sword. "So do I."

**_TBC..._**


	9. Chapter 9

**A/N: *backs up in fear* WAIT! Before you throw things at me for not updating in a timely fashion, please understand that I am most profoundly sorry.**

**...oh. You mean you didn't even realize I hadn't updated? *lightbulb moment* Oh. Well, then. I might as well let you know that now we're switching to an update every Monday and Friday because once every two days is simply too much for me. Also, I'm going on vacation (*slaps on some sunscreen and mosquito spray*) and might be a little slow in updating. Or I might not update at all. I shall try to post a few chapters between now and next Thursday (when I'm leaving), but if I come not again for a week or two, think not ill of me, for I am doubtless either exploring to my heart's content or residing in the stomach of some large mammalian creature. Anyway, enjoy these updates while you can! The story is drawing to its climax, and then...(*dramatic drumroll*) the end.**

**Enjoy.**

* * *

_Chapter 9_

A sharp point pressed into the back of his neck. For a moment, Faramir did nothing but breathe, waiting as his stomach clenched and churned in a terrible panic because he had no idea whatsoever about what was going on. It occurred to him that they might have been fooled by this Farothul after all, and that the hunter and his men were going to just kill them all in their sleep. He had just decided upon that theory when a voice whispered a few inches away from his ear.

"Sit up, boy. Slowly. And keep your hands away from your weapon."

It was not the voice of Farothul, or Djem, or Grum. In fact, it was the voice of a complete stranger, low and fierce sounding, like one of the glowing coals that were all that remained of the fire. Faramir obeyed, and felt a hand jerk his sword away from his belt.

"How many are with you?"

Faramir hesitated, felt the edge of what he took to be a dagger press against his throat, and answered, "Five others. No more."

There was a whisper in the darkness and someone with cold hands grabbed his arms and bound them in front of him. The mysterious strangers didn't seem to know about his broken arm, however, for his captor wasn't especially gentle. He bit back a cry of pain as the—man?—jerked the knot tight. He went lightheaded with panic and pain. Something hit him in the head, and he fell back toward the fire with a shout of surprise.

His shout roused the others, and there was a brief scuffle in the bad light. Faramir heard Amrothos and Djem cursing and Éowyn shout in surprise. At last, there was silence. Someone grabbed him by the arm and dragged him to his feet. Faramir swayed—his head suddenly ached terribly, probably from the sudden movement and the blow he had received—but someone grabbed onto him before he fell.

"Steady," came a whisper from Amrothos. "You all right?"

There was a sound of something striking something else, and Amrothos let out a grunt.

"Silence," came a hiss from the blackness. "Don't speak until you're told."

And so they marched on in the dark, guided by captors they could not see. Amrothos stayed at Faramir's elbow and supported him despite his bound hands. Every now and again, they could hear an annoyed grunt or frustrated cry from Éowyn. There was no noise from Farothul, Grum, or Djem.

The ground was rough, and both Faramir and Amrothos stumbled several times. There seemed to be more loose rocks underfoot the further and further they traveled. At last, however, just when Faramir was beginning to be sure he was never going to see anything else again, a light appeared—just a flicker in the darkness, but a light all the same. And then the flicker grew larger and brighter, until he could recognize the flicker for what it was—a torch. A dark figure was holding it, a figure that, as they drew nearer, Faramir took to be a man. A hand took hold of his shoulder and gripped it tightly.

"Who goes there?" said the man who was holding the torch. "Password?"

"Hawk's breath, Jerrard, it's me. Can't you see in that light?" asked Faramir's captor. "We've found the intruders. Where is Mordeth?"

The man with the torch—Jerrard—shifted uneasily.

"Where do you think? In the map room. Password?"

There came an irritated sigh from behind Faramir that sounded as though it came from a man not much older than himself.

"In front of the prisoners, man, are you mad?"

Jerrard rolled his eyes. "I have my orders. 's not as if they'll find any use for it."

"Very well," grumbled the voice from behind Faramir. "The hunter's folly lies beneath the owl's moon. Are you satisfied?"

As he stepped aside, Jerrard grunted an affirmation.

"Just following my orders. You know how Mordeth dislikes indiscipline."

As his captor gave him a light shove forward, Faramir glanced back to see what the man was like. The glimpse he caught in the torchlight surprised him—their captor was a young man, with glossy black hair that hung to just below his ears and shining eyes under a pair of symmetrical brows. His skin, Faramir thought, was a tawny tan, though it was hard to really tell in the bad light.

"Walk on," the young man hissed at him. "And don't be foolish enough to try any tricks."

Faramir had no intention of doing any such thing. He was fascinated by the flurry of activity surrounding them. Men rushed past them—some carrying weapons, others leading horses—horses! Underground! He heard a cry from Éowyn and twisted back to see what was happening.

Éowyn was staring at the horse as if it was a ghost. Her lips moved as she mouthed a word—a name?—but then Faramir's captor shoved him forward and clouted him on the side of the head.

"Face forward and move along."

After a minute or so more of walking, they reached an overhang of rock, and underneath it a sort of cave-inside-the-cave. The man pushed Faramir through the opening. Inside, the light was much better, for there were real lanterns hung from the ceiling, and candles on the table in the center of the room.

Faramir guessed at once that this was the map room the sentry had spoken of, for the table looked like a sea of records and parchment. He craned his neck and saw that some of these parchments were maps of what appeared to be the cave and tunnel system itself. If only he could get his hands on one.

The man standing behind the table, staring down at the maps, was tall and lean. He had a schemer's eyes, dark and menacing, and short-cropped black hair. His skin had the same dark hue as the man who had captured Faramir—a darkish tan. He wore a dark red cloak, but when he looked up to stare at the newcomers, Faramir saw mail and armor underneath.

"What is this, Tornin? Why are you here?"

The young man shoved past Faramir and brought his right arm to his left shoulder in salute to the man behind the desk.

"My lord, these are the intruders we heard yesterday in the caves. There are six of them—three men, two youths, and a girl."

The man behind the desk watched them with a gleam in his eyes that made Faramir reach for a sword that no longer hung by his side—nor would be of any use if it did. The man caught the look with his sharp gaze and grinned wolfishly.

"Warriors. This one is, at least. And the others." He moved across the room toward them, looking first at Amrothos, then at Farothul, Grum, and Djem. "A motley crew. But this." He stopped in front of Éowyn. She was staring at her feet, and the man reached out his hand and drew her chin up so that the torchlight shone on her face. "This, my friend, is something of value."

There was a flash of fear in the girl's eyes, but she held the man's gaze, stubbornly refusing to look away. Farothul cleared his throat nervously, and the man turned to look at him.

"Do you know who I am?"

His voice was suddenly very soft, yet it filled the room. Farothul shifted his weight nervously and shook his head in denial.

"Then know this: I am no one to be trifled with, and you will answer my questions with haste and truth. Do you understand?"

Farothul jerked his head in a nod, as did Djem and Grum. The man began to pace before them.

"What are you three? Bounty hunters?"

Surprisingly, Farothul did not look astonished at the man's guess. He shrugged and nodded.

"In a manner o' speaking, sir. I'm Farothul, and these are Djem and Grum, my men."

"What is your errand below the surface of the earth?" the man asked without a moment's hesitation.

Farothul answered just as quickly. "We hunt the creature Gollum, my lord."

"Gollum." The man stroked his chin thoughtfully and continued his pacing. "Yes. I thought as much." He faced Farothul again. "What was the name of the man who hired you?"

"Rizka, sir," Farothul replied, beady eyes wide with bewilderment. "Met 'im in the Bear and the Boar."

"Rizka. Of course." The man turned and stared at Éowyn for a long moment. "How came you to join company with these youths? Are they also part of your expedition?"

There was a note in his voice that warned against lying, but Farothul licked his lips and replied, "Yes, m'lord. The gel is my sister's daughter, and a fine one to have at your back in a fight. The lads…well, we needed someone to carry the supplies."

"What supplies?"

Djem cursed under his breath, but Farothul's expression remained neutral.

"The ones we had three months ago. Before we got lost in the darkness."

The man stopped pacing at last and turned to stare at the bounty hunter. He stared for so long that even the unperturbed Farothul began to look uneasy.

"You lie," the tall man said quietly. Faramir felt his muscles tense in preparation for what was to come. "This girl is no niece of yours."

Faramir looked to Éowyn, who had clenched her jaw and looked frightened enough to faint and mad enough to spit.

"Did you know," the man continued, "just who exactly you ran into in the darkness and managed to capture, Hunter of Gollum? Did you know, exactly, what riches you could gain by asking ransom for the Princess of Rohan?"

Djem cursed. Éowyn drew in a sharp breath and flashed a frightened glance at Faramir. Amrothos nudged him and gave him a look as if to say "The game's up now. Should we run for it?" But Faramir shook his head.

Farothul grunted in surprise. For him, that was equivalent to a full out shout.

"The princess, eh? Ye don't say so. Well, if that doesn't beat everything." He turned, looked her over, and then sent a glance Faramir and Amrothos' way. "And what about them? They the lass's brother and cousin after all? The Crown Prince and the king's nephew?"

The man whirled and walked over to study them carefully. Faramir made certain to meet the man's gaze, but not look threatening or afraid. Amrothos kept his eyes down.

"No." The man's voice echoed through the room with a ring of bemusement to it. "I know these faces not." He looked at them a moment longer, but then shrugged and turned away. "Nevertheless, the girl may be of some use to me. As it is, my good Farothul, I have no need to hold you and your men prisoner. It seems we serve the same master."

Tornin came forward and cut the bounty hunters' bonds with a dagger he produced from his sleeve. Farothul looked at the severed ropes in surprise, but then nodded slowly.

"Indeed, my lord. We are free to go, then?"

The man nodded slightly.

"To go wherever you please. May you have good fortune on your hunt, Hunter of Gollum. Farewell."

Two men escorted Farothul, Grum, and Djem away. They did not look back.

The tall man watched them leave, and then turned back to look at the three remaining captives. He gazed at Éowyn for a long moment, and then turned to Faramir and Amrothos.

"You are not from Rohan." It was a statement, not a question. Faramir did not reply. "You are strangers—perhaps even the villagers that the hunter claimed you were. Then again," the man glanced at Éowyn and back, and grinned. "Perhaps not."

The young man called Tornin stepped forward and said, "My lord, shall we not let them go free as well? They know nothing, and are of no use to us."

The tall man gave Tornin a look of disgust.

"Yet they found their way below and were doubtless accompanying Lady Éowyn on whatever adventure led her down to our realm of darkness."

"They were not," Éowyn snapped suddenly. She had a sullen look on her face, and Faramir had to look twice before realizing it was for show. "I do my adventuring alone. I never saw them before in my life. They were with those other men when I met them."

"But is it not strange, little maiden," said the man, coolly turning to her, "that the hunter made no protest when I did not release them to his care?"

This left Éowyn in silence, musing. She still managed to glare at the man, however, and that sparked Faramir's courage.

"Please, sir," he said quietly. "My father is a merchant—of Gondor. My brother and I found a cave as we were travelling and got lost, which is how we came to join company with Farothul."

"That's right," Amrothos added. "He promised to help us find our way to the surface again. He lied," he added under his breath murderously.

The tall man watched with something akin to amusement in his dark eyes.

"I see." He paused, and then turned to Tornin swiftly. "Take them to the holding chambers. All of them. They are to be given food and water and as much comfort as can be offered them."

His glittering eyes turned to Faramir once more, and the man smiled charmingly.

"Naturally I would love to hear what other lies these young men can tell, but I fear I have more important things to do at the moment. I will visit them tonight—and if they do not have a better story by then," he paused again, and his charming smile vanished in a look of danger and threatening malice, "we shall have to find another way to the truth."

**_To be continued..._**


	10. Chapter 10

**A/N: Presenting Chapter 10, in which Éomer is NOT worried, Amrothos is brilliant, and Éowyn shares a line with Eilonwy from the Prydain Chronicles (it wasn't intentional...she MADE me put it in!).

* * *

**

_Chapter 10_

The sun was high in the sky when Éomer spotted the three strangers.

They had been searching for the three missing young people since first light—fruitlessly. Everyone had hoped that they'd merely gone out for a ride and stayed in a village over the night, or gotten lost in the hills or such like, but after a thorough combing of each village in the area and several sweeps of the nearby hillsides, Éomer came to the conclusion that it was all no good.

"Blast that girl," he kept saying to himself. "I'll get her for this one. She'll be up to her neck in needlework and tapestries—and mending, and…and whatever else that women do that Éowyn refuses to take part in."

He let out his breath in a huff and ran a hand through his sweaty mane. "Curse you, Éowyn. When we find you, I'll…I'll…"

"You really are worried about her, aren't you?" asked a voice from his right. Éomer turned in the saddle to glare at his cousin, Theodred.

"You do not know, Theo, how fortunate you are not to have such a cursed piece of bad luck as a sister. All they do is get into scrapes—into mischief—and then expect you to get them back out of it again, safe and sound. Ugh."

Éomer found, to his dismay, that his eyes were watering. He growled a curse and wiped at them angrily, muttering about the light and the dust and the wind.

"If she's not all right, I'm going to kill her."

Theodred snorted and wheeled his horse off to the left. Éomer watched him go, and glanced over to the right, down toward the rocky valley between two hills. And then he looked again, because something—or someone—was moving down there.

It wasn't Boromir, nor his uncle, for they had decided to search further to the north. And it wasn't any of the Rohirrim, for they were all behind or further left with Theodred. Squinting, Éomer nudged his mare forward so he could draw nearer to the moving things and see what they were. In less than a minute he could make out the shapes of three men—all stocky and dressed in dark, ragged clothing. He shouted for Theodred (feeling a keen disappointment because it wasn't the missing three after all) and then wheeled toward them.

"Who are you?" Éomer asked, drawing his mare to a stop before the three men. "And what is your business in the Mark?"

The shortest man exchanged a look with one of the others, and then looked up at him with a curious look in his beady eyes.

"Well now, cub. No need to be rude to yer elders. Ye wouldn't happen to know the way to the nearest village, would ye?"

Éomer hefted his spear, though he didn't lower it, and glared at the man steadily.

"I asked you first. Who are you?"

The man grunted and raised a greasy eyebrow.

"A hunter. A hungry hunter."

"No success today, then?" Éomer asked impudently, feeling devilishly pleased because making a joke, even at another's expense, helped ease the frustration he felt. "You wouldn't happen to have seen two young men and a girl anywhere around these parts, would you?"

There was a flash of surprise on the small man's face.

"Yer lookin' for 'em?"

A furious joy flashed through Éomer's veins like brandy. He drew a quick breath and almost dropped the spear in his excitement.

"Then you _have_ seen them?"

The thundering of hoof beats approached, and Theodred drew his horse to a halt beside his cousin. The hunter looked from Éomer to the prince and back again, and said, with a grin, "Indeed, I 'ave. And I might tell ye about our encounter for a good warm meal and some ale."

* * *

_Three chickens and a pint of ale later..._

"So you actually found and spoke with the children," Prince Imrahil asked, leaning forward to watch the greasy little man as he ate.

"That's righ'," Farothul agreed with a nod. "Two lads and a lass. Friendly cubs, they was. Though right stubborn when it came to tellin' us where we were."

"An underground cavern system, you said?" Boromir repeated thoughtfully, fingering the handle of a mug that was still half full of ale.

"Tunnels," Farothul confirmed, taking another bite energetically. "Enough to make yer head spin."

"But how would they get into these tunnels in the first place?" Theodred asked from where he relaxed against a bench, taking a long draw on his pipe. "Surely there's not an opening in Edoras _itself_."

Éomer was pacing back and forth across the tavern floor, while the tavern-mistress watched him nervously.

"Is there time for all this discourse!" he half-shouted at last, turning on the group at the table and slamming his fist on the wood violently. "My sister is out there somewhere, cold and frightened because she's lost in the dark, and we're just going to sit around listening to this man repeat himself in the next-to-nothing that he's told us."

"Your sister is not the only one lost, lad," Imrahil snapped (which surprised Boromir, because it was quite unlike his uncle to snap). "But rushing madly head-on into a dangerous situation will do more harm than good."

Éomer lowered his eyes out of respect for the older man, but resumed his restless pacing.

"I say we should enter the caves where Farothul and his men got out," Boromir said. He was just as eager as Éomer to find their lost relations, but he'd grown used to keeping a cool head in most situations, and he knew that Faramir would expect nothing less of him in this one.

"You said that the children were captives?" Imrahil pressed firmly. "Captives of whom?"

"I told ye, sir, I don't rightly know!" Farothul exclaimed with his mouth half-full. "'e wouldn't give me 'is name. But 'e had plenty of men down there—that's for certain."

"We'll have to take the Guard, then," Boromir remarked thoughtfully. "And as many men as Rohan can spare."

"I swear," Éomer said under his breath, still pacing, "when I get my hands on Éowyn, I'll teach her what it means to be in trouble."

"Prince Theodred?" Boromir asked, respectfully deferring to his elder in age and station. The man nodded, and Boromir turned to Imrahil. "Uncle?"

Imrahil glared at his cup for a long, long moment, and then sighed.

"I knew it would be Amrothos, of all my offspring, that would drive me to drinking." He took a swig of ale and then wiped his mouth with his sleeve. "What's your plan, Boromir?"

* * *

"He's the one!" Éowyn exclaimed as soon as the guards had moved far enough away that they could not hear her whisper. "I knew I wasn't imagining things!"

Amrothos, who was helping Faramir lean against a smooth rock on the ground, gave her a look that said he was thinking quite the opposite.

"What are you talking about, Éowyn?" Faramir asked, wearily rubbing the rope-burns on his wrists and trying not to wince as the bones moved in his arm.

"The horse-nappings!" the girl hissed after glancing at the guards to make sure they weren't listening. One was leaning against his spear and looking bored, while the other was standing at attention and looking attentive but wouldn't for long. "The disappearances…I knew there was something afoot. They must have dug a tunnel and then stolen the horses through the hole we fell through in the stables!"

"A lot of good knowing all that does us now," Amrothos said crossly. "In case you haven't noticed, we're kind of stuck down here."

"Someone," Éowyn whispered, leaning forward until the three of their heads almost touched, "has got to escape. To tell Uncle and everyone where we are."

"That doesn't seem exactly very possible right now, Éowyn," remarked Faramir. He leaned back against the cool stone and eyed the guards thoughtfully. Perhaps if his arm was not injured…oh, his head did _ache_! He closed his eyes and stifled a moan.

"And why do you think these people are connected to your precious horse-nappings?" Amrothos put in with a glower at the girl. "For all we know, they're a whole other group."

"But they're not!" Éowyn insisted, so vehemently that one of the guards, the one who was leaning on his spear, turned and looked at them curiously. "I know they're not!"

"And how do you know that?" Amrothos snapped.

"Because," Éowyn said, tossing her hair back and giving him a full glare. "I recognized that horse we met coming through the tunnels."

Faramir opened his eyes and gave her a sharp look.

"You _recognized _the horse?"

With a nod, Éowyn continued.

"His name was Sul. He belonged to my cousin, but just _disappeared _one day from the stables. As a matter of fact, a lot of horses have been disappearing from the stables. Éomer thinks it's just a prank, but I _knew_ it was something more."

"But why these people?" Amrothos asked. "I mean, aren't you just jumping to conclusions…again? What if this _"Sul" _ran away…and then these people caught him from the wild?"

"There's something else to your idea, isn't there?" Faramir said, perhaps seeing the glimmer of thought in the steel-gray eyes.

"Do you remember," Éowyn began ponderingly, "When we first fell into the tunnels and we were wandering around? Someone yelled 'Quick, that way! We mustn't let them see the beasts—Mordeth will have our heads!' It was just before Gollum grabbed my arm—before we were caught by Farothul and his men."

"Yes…" Faramir replied with a slow nod. "Yes, I do remember that."

"So you think the man we saw was Mordeth? And the beasts they were talking about were stolen horses?" Amrothos finished, shaking his head. "I don't know. It doesn't make sense."

"Why would this Mordeth be stealing horses from the Stables of Rohan?" Faramir asked. The question hung in the air like a thundercloud, and at last Éowyn shrugged.

"I don't know. It seems like a pretty big operation. But there's a missing piece—the motive." She stared at nothing for a minute or so, but then shook herself out of it. "But whether these men are the horse-thieves I've been looking for or not, we still need to tell Uncle—both our uncles, and your father," she added to Amrothos, "where we are."

"I suppose we could try an escape," Amrothos admitted. "They're not likely to let us go alive anyway—and if we could tell someone where we were—,"

"But what if the attempt fails and they kill us for trying?" Faramir interrupted, shifting his weight and glancing at the guards again. "Can we really risk it?"

Amrothos shrugged.

"We know they won't kill Éowyn, especially when they can turn her in for a ransom. As for us…well, I'm not afraid to die. And they might not kill us."

"Amrothos of Dol Amroth!" Éowyn exclaimed, a bit loudly because her face was turning red and her eyes were aflame with fury. "I _did not_ suggest—," she halted instantly as she realized both guards had turned to stare, smiled at them, and then continued in a much softer but no less angry voice, "that we try anything simply because I know I would be in no danger. I'm just as willing to risk my life as you are."

"Your willingness has nothing to do with it," Amrothos replied, turning a bit red in the face as well. "It's the simple fact of the matter. Only Faramir and I will have anything to lose."

Éowyn's mouth opened and worked as though she was searching for the right words, but at last she closed it again with a snap, glaring daggers at the fair-haired youth who was glaring daggers at her, declared, "Amrothos of Dol Amroth, I am _not _speaking to you," and turned her back to him as deliberately as she could.

As Amrothos stared, bewildered, Faramir let out a long sigh. Stubborn. Lothiriel, his cousin and Amrothos' sister, was never _this _stubborn, though he had no doubt that she could be if she tried. Then something else occurred to him, and he put his head in his one good hand and sighed again.

"Well done, you two. Now they know one of our names."

Amrothos groaned; Eowyn's back stiffened, and although she did not turn, Faramir noticed that her ears had gone red with embarrassment.

"Supposing," Amrothos said quietly, "that we all try to escape at once. Éowyn could distract the guards and then we could knock them out and run toward the exit, or even split up. That way one of us might get through."

Faramir knew in his heart that he would not escape, not with the condition he was in, but decided against saying so. After all, unless they tried they would probably die anyway.

"_If _I was speaking to you," Éowyn stated coldly, "I would tell you that I'm just as capable as you both at knocking someone out. But I'm not. Speaking to you, I mean."

"So should we just ignore you, then?" Faramir teased. Princess Éowyn did not deign to reply, but remained silent and stiff.

"It's worth a chance, isn't it?" Amrothos asked Faramir. "Escaping, I mean?"

"If only we knew where the exit was, it would be," Faramir admitted with a frown. "But we haven't even the foggiest idea of that."

"Aha," said Amrothos, raising an eyebrow and smiling, "but we do."

And that's when he pulled the crumpled piece of parchment from his pocket.

"What's that?" Faramir asked, reaching for it and trying to see what it said. Even Éowyn craned her head to look—without turning around, of course.

"It's a map," Amrothos whispered, looking mischievously pleased. "Snitched it while we were in that room and that—that Mordeth was talking to the Gollum Hunters. See? That's the exit—right there!"

"_If_," Éowyn said suddenly, "I was speaking to you, I might say that it's about time you did something useful."

"All right," Faramir added after a moment, somewhat reluctantly. "We'll try it—as soon as we can explain the plan to her highness who will be left out of said plan if she doesn't return to speaking terms with us _very quickly_."

Eowyn whirled around, eyes fiery but lips clenched and raised an eyebrow at him.

"I'll speak to you. But not _him_. Just tell me what to do."

So Faramir leaned in until their heads were almost touching and told them.

_**TBC...**_


	11. Chapter 11

**A/N: I am back, at last, from my vacation. T'was quite fun, and although there were hardly any large mammalian creatures to be found (which meant less adventure) I had quite a time of it. And got pine sap in my hair. :)**

**Anyway, I must offer my sincere thanks to the good readers who were patient in waiting for this chapter (and with me for all the dreadful cliffhangers I've thrown your way). Your reviews have been as a light in a foggy sea...or something like that.**

**Updates Mondays and Fridays. Enjoy. ;)

* * *

**_Chapter 11_

The plan worked at first. Éowyn pointed into the blackness and shouted "Gollum!", knocked out one of the guards as Amrothos knocked out the other (Faramir had only one arm that he could use, and so let the others do the fighting) and then Faramir and Amrothos put on the men's helmets and began walking, one on either side of Éowyn, quickly but not conspicuously down one of the passageways. They were doing all right until the third group of men they ran into—apparently replacement guards for the prisoners. As the men shouted in surprise at seeing Éowyn away from the holding area, the three turned down another corridor—the corridor that supposedly led to the exit—and ran for it.

Faramir, who ordinarily would have led, lagged behind the others. Every step jarred his arm terribly, and his aching head made it hard to run in a straight line. At last he shouted for the others to go ahead and turned to distract their pursuers.

Amrothos and Éowyn continued on. They had studied the map carefully, but even now they couldn't be sure if this was the right corridor to take if one wanted to find the exit. And if the worst came to the worst, at least they could hide and wander around in the dark until they found the light.

As the two of them blundered forward, though, something solid came bowling out of the blackness and knocked Éowyn to the ground (she felt a twinge of unwelcome pain in her foot), shrieking about "The Lights! They hurts us, precious!" Sheer luck, it was. Éowyn and Amrothos would have exchanged a look, but, as it was too dark to see the other's face, it would've been no good.

"So we did see Gollum after all," Amrothos quipped as he helped Éowyn to her feet. "How ironic that he should be the one to help us found our way out."

"If I was speaking to you, I might agr—ah!" Éowyn broke off suddenly with a cry of pain and staggered. "My ankle!"

Behind them, they could hear their pursuers approaching. Torchlight flickered from around the bend, and Éowyn saw the torn look in Amrothos eyes.

"Go," she said quietly, knowing that he knew that she wasn't going to make it with him. "Go and find help. They won't hurt me."

He turned to go, but then paused and looked back at her.

"I didn't mean what I said. About your willingness not mattering."

She grinned despite herself and replied, "Just go, Amrothos, or I'll never speak to you again!"

And he went.

* * *

They bound her wrists behind her and took her back to the holding area where four guards were now stationed around a glum-looking Faramir. Éowyn's captors untied her and she sank down by the side of her friend.

"Did Ro make it?" Faramir asked, the urgency in his eyes belying the calmness of his voice.

She hesitated, but then nodded. "I think so. I gave him as much time as I could."

A brief snatch that one of the men who had brought her back was telling to one of the guards about 'that wildcat of a girl' brought a smile to Faramir's lips.

The smile faded when the tall man they had decided was Mordeth approached the guards, a dark look of grimness hanging about his face. After exchanging a few words with the men on duty, he stepped past them and stood before Éowyn and Faramir, looking down at them with something a little like admiration and a little like hatred.

"I should have known you would try some foolish escape, Lady Éowyn," the man said with a sort of smile. "If you or your companion even attempt such a thing again, be assured that it will end in death. Your ransom means little to me, however if you promise to behave, I'll try to see that you live to see your family again.

"Your other friend," Mordeth continued, "is being traced even now. He cannot hide from my hunters, even in the blackness of these caves. We will find him, and he will share in your punishment."

"Punishment?" Éowyn asked. Her voice shook and she cursed internally for sounding so weak. "My Uncle will be most angry if I am harmed—I, or my companions."

"So, they're your companions now," said the dark man with a little chuckle. "Not strangers met by chance in the underneath. Amrothos of Dol Amroth, third son of Prince Imrahil. Really, highness, I had no idea your uncle's people had dealings with Belfalas. Thank you for that tender bit of information—a bit that I shall not hesitate to pass on to a higher command."

Éowyn's eyes narrowed, but it was Faramir who said, quietly, "Who are you?"

Mordeth stared at him impassively, and then raised an eyebrow mockingly.

"What? Then the other lad of Gondor—Erchirion, perhaps? Or someone else altogether—has drawn no conclusion?"

"He was only giving you a chance to answer for yourself," Éowyn snapped fiercely. "We know who you are—_Mordeth_."

At last the man stiffened and barely veiled his surprise with a stare.

"Well, well," he said after a moment. "The little maid is a detective. Why am I not surprised? What else do you know, highness?"

"That you're the one behind the horses disappearing from our stables—all our dark horses," Éowyn retorted while Faramir wondered whether telling the man all they knew was wise. "That you are the enemy of my uncle and a servant of Mordor!"

It seemed to Faramir as though Éowyn was merely grasping at straws now, but Mordeth denied none of her accusations. Instead he watched her musingly and stroked his beardless chin.

"Most impressive, Lady Éowyn. But you cannot truly _know_ all of that, can you? Of what use would horses be to Mordor?"

When Éowyn failed to answer, Mordeth smiled and added, "I suppose, my dear, that it wouldn't hurt to tell you.

"You see, Mordor does not breed its own horses. Somehow, the climate and atmosphere is not deemed beneficial for the raising of the equine, so we must make deals with nations that do breed such beasts: namely, Rohan. And when Théoden, your precious _king_," this he sneered, "would not sell to Mordor, what could we do but _steal_ what we needed?"

The scope of this left Éowyn trembling and Faramir at a loss. Mordeth grinned at their reaction, and before turning to go added, "I shall return in an hour. We're packing up and leaving with an escort of Orcs from my lord Sauron. You will join us, to a safe passage through the lands of Rohan, and in Mordor we might release you to return. If you're good."

And with that he left them and let silence and fear do their work.

Ten minutes passed. At last Éowyn stirred and moved closer to Faramir.

"How is your arm?" she asked, though there was no emotion behind the words.

"As I said before," Faramir replied calmly, although it hurt like the dickens, "it will heal."

"I'm…" Éowyn paused and looked down at the ground, "I'm sorry I got you and your cousin into this mess. If I hadn't lost my balance on the edge of that hole…"

"It could have happened to anyone," said Faramir gently.

Éowyn gave him a grateful look and added, "Thanks for catching hold of me—and for breaking my fall. At least," she wrinkled her nose, "I think it was you."

Faramir shook his head (how it ached!) and said, "You're welcome. I only wish you could've been the one to escape."

Éowyn gave him a fake look of shock and snickered.

"You _don't_ mean that you prefer Amrothos' company to mine?"

Something stirred in his heart at the words, and at the valiant attempt she was making to be brave, and he shook his head again.

"On the contrary, my lady. Your presence makes even waiting for one's death bearable."

He'd meant it for a joke (even flattery, mayhap?), but Éowyn winced.

"They might not kill you—us—you know."

"Not now, maybe," replied Faramir, shifting his weight and rubbing his arm thoughtfully, "but they wouldn't let us live with what we know. It's only a matter of now or later. And I'd almost prefer now if it comes to having to choose."

There was a moment of silence, and then Éowyn let out a little sigh.

"You're so awfully brave about everything. I try to be brave, but sometimes—like right now—I don't feel very brave at all."

"Neither do I," Faramir confessed. "But I can pretend I'm brave, and then after pretending for long enough I convince myself along with everybody else."

She reached out and found his hand, and they held on to each other and sanity while they waited in the darkness.

* * *

They were still stumbling around the countryside looking for Farothul's secret entrance when the fair-haired boy appeared. Éomer, of course, saw him first and shouted out a challenge. Boromir, only a few feet away, let out a cry when he caught sight of the boy and started yelling for his uncle, something about Amrothos, who, Éomer recalled, was Imrahil's son. The one that the man swore would drive him to drink.

Éomer was nearest the boy to begin with, but Boromir passed him at a full gallop and half-tackled his cousin to the ground as he leapt off his horse and greeted the boy. Éomer reached him next.

"…and I kept feeling around in the black but I couldn't find the way up the tunnel until I realized that I had to _climb_, and then I could see the light coming down, and then it was full daylight but it hurt my eyes so I could hardly see for five minutes. Everything's still awfully fuzzy. But the light—the light! It's so good to be able to _see_ again!"

He was babbling on and Boromir was listening with a smile, but Éomer dismounted and said, bluntly, "Where's Éowyn."

The boy turned and gave him a wide-eyed stare.

"Éowyn? She's still in the tunn—,"

Éomer shoved past him and walked toward the hillside. Sure enough, there was a hole that led down into what looked like pure blackness. He would've crawled in that instant, but Boromir grabbed his arm and held him back.

"Wait," he said. If it had been Imrahil, Éomer would have ignored him. But since Boromir's brother was still missing as well, Éomer waited.

"When I find that girl, I'm going to break up her sword in front of her eyes and sell her favorite mare to the gypsies. I'll make her sleep on the stone floor and tell Uncle she wants to wear fancy dresses _every day_, and then, I'll—,"

"You're her brother, aren't you?" the boy asked abruptly. Éomer nodded, and the boy, brushing his straw-colored hair out of his eyes, said, "I thought so. You're very like her. She's got quite a temper, that girl. She's not speaking to me."

Éomer harrumphed. "That probably means she likes you," he said, and then regretted it.

Another horse was approaching at a gallop. Éomer hardly had time to recognize Imrahil on its back before the man swung down and seized his son in a mighty embrace that lasted a good ten seconds. Then the prince drew back and gripped the boy's shoulders, shaking him as he let his relief turn to anger.

"Amrothos, you miscreant! Can you not stay out of trouble for even one hour? Truly, I ought to give you a royal beating for this little adventure—worse yet, send you home in disgrace. What were you thinking, boy? Why is it that you only think of yourself when you get yourself into such scrapes? Will you never learn?"

"Father," Amrothos began, but before he could continue, his father pulled him into another crushing hug and held him tightly. When he released him this second time, Amrothos told the three of them (plus Theodred, who had arrived in the middle of Amrothos' upbraiding) about Mordeth and Éowyn's theory about the horses. When he'd finished, Theodred stroked his chin and looked thoughtful.

"Someone must warn Father and search out this entryway in the stable. I'll send a messenger."

Imrahil put the reins in the hands of his son and jerked his head toward Edoras.

"No need. Amrothos will go."

"But Father," Amrothos protested. Imrahil held up a hand at which the lad respectfully stopped.

"Ride back to the city and tell the king what you've told us. Moreover, once you arrive, do not leave its walls."

"But Father—,"

"Obey me, Amrothos," Imrahil snapped. "Do as I say."

Biting back what looked like more protests, Amrothos mounted and wheeled his horse around. During the gallop toward Edoras, he drew his father's horse to a halt at the top of a hill and watched as his father and six others one by one disappeared into the entrance of the tunnel.

It was one of the rare times in his life that Amrothos ever felt like crying.

* * *

**_To be continued..._**


	12. Chapter 12

_Chapter 12_

They were still holding hands when Mordeth returned, brandishing a flaming torch that made them wince at the sudden brightness. When the initial glow had worn away, and Faramir could see again, he saw that the dark man was scowling at him—not a good sign.

He jerked his head, and one of the guards grabbed his good arm and dragged him a little ways away from Éowyn. There, Mordeth began pacing back and forth, every now and then turning to stare thoughtfully at Faramir. His actions brought to mind his earlier questioning of Farothul and the other Gollum Hunters. Faramir could only wonder what was up.

"You," Mordeth said at last, "puzzle me, boy."

Faramir grinned slightly and lifted his chin.

"Delightful."

An ugly look flashed through the man's eyes and Faramir felt a flash of triumph until something struck his cheek with a sharpness that stung a second late. He tasted blood, and looked up to see Mordeth staring down at him with satisfaction. He then continued, as if nothing had happened.

"There is not much that puzzles me—and the fact that you, a mere youth, do, is even more puzzling still."

Silence. Faramir wisely decided against making another smart remark, and at last Mordeth spoke again.

"You are obviously older than your companions, Éowyn of Rohan and Amrothos of Gondor. Your coloring tells that you are of the same country as the other lad—but the sword you were wearing is not an article that a commoner would bear. So," Mordeth paused and locked gazes with Faramir, "you are a warrior. Not a knight—you are too silent and slender for that. Perhaps a Ranger—though it is not often one meets a Ranger so young as you—or nobility, then? The brother of this Amrothos?"

"Why are you so interested in my identity?" asked Faramir at last, quietly. "Will that make my death worth more—if you know who it is that lies dead by your order?"

A faint smile rested 'pon Mordeth's thin lips briefly.

"Are you so sure then, of your death? No, boy. I want to know because if you are something I do not know, then Mordeth, the man who knows everything and everyone, is undone."

Swiftly, he drew his dagger and held it at Faramir's throat, taking the youth by his good arm (which he twisted behind Faramir's back) and turning him to face Éowyn.

"If he himself will not speak, then perhaps the Lady Éowyn will tell us—if she wants this mysterious friend of hers to remain _alive_."

Faramir felt his breath coming quickly, but at last he forced it to slow. He was trembling in anticipation, in fear. Mordeth twisted his arm cruelly, and a strangled gasp escaped him. A few more minutes and both his arms would be broken.

A sort of sob echoed through the cavernous room, but it was not from him. Faramir wrenched his eyes up to meet Éowyn's, and saw the sickening horror written on her pale, dirty face. She swallowed, staring at him as if to beg reassurance or command, but did not speak.

Mordeth pressed the edge of his dagger a bit closer in a skillful motion that just sliced Faramir's skin and let drip a single stream of blood. Faramir gritted his teeth at the warm wetness as it trickled down his throat. This was no way to die—surely it would be better to speak!

But Éowyn spoke first.

"STOP!" she cried; there were tears in her eyes. "Don't kill him! His name is Faramir and he's from Gondor."

Abruptly the knife left Faramir's throat, and his captor released him so that he stumbled forward with a short cry. His hand clasped through his sticky neck, Faramir turned back to look at Mordeth, but Mordeth was not looking at him.

"_Faramir_," Mordeth hissed, staring at the blade, and then out into the nothingness of thought. "Faramir! The son of Denethor. On a mission with his cousin—and uncle? And brother, too. Of course he would not be without his brother. And why?"

Faramir began inching back, until he was very near Éowyn and could reach out and grasp her hand reassuringly. It was very cold, her hand. She held on tightly, but no tighter than he held to her. It was odd, but even in that terrible, terrifying moment, thrown in the darkness within the grasp of a madman who might just kill them both, a sort of peace at her hand in his and the rightness of it calmed him like nothing else could.

"To ask for aid in defending Osgiliath! Of course! The picture is now complete."

At last, Mordeth turned and looked them over. His dark eyes gleamed with triumph. He opened his mouth to speak, but before he had a chance, there was a shout from somewhere down one of the tunnels, and then more cries and the sound of running feet.

"Intruders!" shouted someone who raced into the light with a flushed, frightened face—the young man, Tornin. "They have breached our defenses at the North Entrance—a whole party of attackers!"

Mordeth cursed loudly and struck the wall with his torch. Sparks flew, and Éowyn and Faramir both shied backward from them. There came another shout, and then the sound of metal on metal. Éowyn gasped, and when Faramir turned to look at her, some color had returned to her pale cheeks.

"Éomer," she said breathlessly, eyes bright with relief and pride. "That was Éomer. I'm sure of it."

Faramir let out an uncharacteristic whoop of triumph and rose to his feet. More figures were rushing past them.

"To the stables! Let us take the horses and flee!"

"The Orcs! Where are the blasted Orcs to fight for us?"

The sound of swords clashing died out, and Faramir suddenly saw a flash of light, and a familiar face lit by the torchlight—his brother. Éowyn's brother was just behind him.

"Éomer!" Éowyn screamed, lunging for said brother, but as she and Faramir moved forward to meet the approaching conquerors, Éowyn let out a little shriek. When Faramir looked back to see what was wrong, he froze in horror—_for Mordeth was holding his knife to her throat._

Faramir grabbed up a sword that had been dropped by one of the fleeing people and stepped forward. By now, Boromir and the others were quite close—just a few feet behind him. But they were all too late.

"Éowyn!" shouted Éomer, staggering toward her and raising his spear. "Let her go, you villain!"

"Stay back," Mordeth growled, increasing the pressure of the knife's edge on Éowyn's throat until she whimpered. Éomer froze where he stood. "Stay back or the girl dies."

Her brother gasped with fury, tightening his grip on his spear, but Theodred held onto his cousin's arm to hold him back. Faramir's sword was the closest to Mordeth's throat, but he knew that, even if he did kill the man, Mordeth might have just enough time to slit Éowyn's throat before he collapsed to the floor. He could not afford to take the chance that he could be quicker—especially since he was now suddenly very left-handed.

"It seems that we've reached an impasse," Imrahil said coolly, stepping past Éomer and lowering his sword-point slightly as he watched the dark man.

"Yes, it does," sneered Mordeth with a look of disdain, "Imrahil of Dol Amroth. But I will tell you this: it will not last long. One false move and the girl is dead. I will escape—make no mistake of that. It is merely the matter of the amount of blood spilled between now and the moment at which I am free of these lands."

He began backing up slowly, keeping a tight hold on Éowyn's arm. The knife never left her throat. Éomer's eyes were trained on his sister (he was cursing steadily under his breath), and his sister's eyes were trained on him. She mouthed his name and whimpered almost imperceptibly.

_Éomer, Faramir, I'm so frightened. I'm going to die. He'll cut my throat and I'll feel the warm blood spilling out and then what? What is after death? Will it hurt? I'm so frightened._

"You're so awfully brave about everything." The words echoed in her ears. "I try to be brave, but sometimes—like right now—I don't feel very brave at all."

_Silly, silly Éowyn. You had no business to be afraid then. Now, when you really are in danger, now you have a perfect right to be afraid._

Abruptly, she tore her gaze from her brother and saw Faramir staring at her. He looked perfectly calm, except that his eyes were watching her with ample fear in them—fear that brought back the words he'd said in reply.

"Neither do I. But I can pretend I'm brave, and then after pretending for long enough I convince myself along with everybody else."

It was that, that courage-in-the-presence-of-fear, that pretending to be brave when you know you can't really, was what made her lift her chin slightly and grit her teeth together. She wasn't afraid. She was Éowyn, daughter of Eomund and Theodwyn, and niece of Théoden, King. She gave Faramir one last look and then stared at Éomer as she concentrated on trying to figure a way out of Mordeth's grip.

"What must we do to save Éowyn's life?" Imrahil asked, watching the dark man warily. "Is your safe passage out of Rohan sufficient payment?"

Mordeth let out a chuckle that had nothing of humor in it and tightened his grip on Éowyn's arm.

"Don't be ridiculous. I'll be taking the girl with me—that's my assurance that I will escape. If anyone tries anything to hinder me…" he pressed the dagger in slightly, as he had with Faramir, and Éowyn felt a prick and then a slight trickle of blood. It turned her stomach, even though it hardly hurt, and she saw that Éomer was almost beside himself with rage and worry.

"If you want the girl to remain alive, gentlemen," Mordeth was saying loudly, "you'll remain where you are to the count of five-hundred and then return above-ground. If I make it safely to my destination—well then, you'll see the girl again. If not…"

He let the words trail off, perhaps intending to finish them or perhaps not. None of them ever found out, though, for at that instant something barreled through the darkness and ripped Mordeth's knife arm away from Éowyn's throat, and then shoving her far forward, out of the way.

Éowyn grunted in surprise as she landed on the hard stone, scraping her knee and palms as she tried to break her fall. Her mind spun with shock—had Gollum been her rescuer? She looked up at her would-be rescuers and saw all staring behind her, equally stunned, save Imrahil, who looked both stunned and furious.

Whirling, Éowyn saw that Mordeth was engaged in close combat with someone hardly taller than herself—but quite a bit taller than the creature Gollum. He had fair hair and seemed to be having a hard time keeping hold of the older man's arms.

In fact, when Imrahil shouted "AMROTHOS!", Éowyn couldn't have said it better herself.

She watched with silent, breathless fear as the two men grappled back and forth. Faramir and the others were moving forward now, but suddenly Mordeth twisted the knife away from Amrothos reach and stabbed. Éowyn gasped. Amrothos' face was frozen in a look of fierce hatred, but it was slowly replaced by a look of confusion. Letting out a croaking laughter, Mordeth withdrew his knife, and Amrothos crumpled to the ground. The dark man's blade glinted claret in the torchlight. Éowyn felt sick.

"So, Imrahil," the dark man said, as Boromir knocked the knife away and another man grabbed Mordeth's arm tightly. "A life for a life—perhaps not the trade you would have wanted, eh?"

Imrahil, who had knelt at once by his son's side, turned to look at the man who had stabbed his son, and there was murder in his eyes. He stepped forward, sword brandished high, like an avenging angel, a servant of justice—for surely Mordeth deserved death.

But he stopped just as his sword reached the other man's neck (no one tried to stop him from killing their prisoner) and glared at Mordeth with speechless fury. His teeth were clenched, and his jaw muscle worked as he attempted to regain his composure. Mordeth met Imrahil's gaze evenly—imperiously. At last, though, Imrahil drew a ragged breath and lowered his sword.

"No. Your death will come later. See that he is bound—will you, Boromir?—and take him back to Edoras for further questioning. Let Théoden decide what his fate will be."

Éowyn let out a shuddering breath. Mordeth's gaze jerked to meet her eyes, and she was bewildered by what she saw there, for there was no fear in his eyes. The man was surely mad not to be afraid now. Or maybe he was merely pretending not to be afraid.

Suddenly, someone grabbed her arm. With a yelp, Éowyn turned and found herself looking into the relieved, concerned, and very angry face of her brother.

"Éom—"

"Not a word," her brother hissed, dragging her to her feet and helping her back to the group of rescuers (she was still limping thanks to her twisted ankle). "Not one single word, you conniving little filly."

"Éomer, what on earth—?"

"Here," Éomer interrupted, eyes blazing, "I give you free run of the castle and—oh, hang it, of _everywhere_—and what do you do but get wrapped up in the only criminal organization in all of Rohan—almost get yourself killed!"

"Éomer!" Éowyn shouted, but instead of him continuing with his tirade, he grabbed her shoulders and nearly crushed her with a hug that told her just how worried he had been. At last, when the world was growing faint because she couldn't breathe, she gasped something like "Let—go!" and he did, drawing back and turning away to wipe something out of his eyes, muttering about the dust down here.

"And if you _ever_," he told her, holding her by the shoulders and shaking her to emphasize his seriousness, "try _anything _like this again, I'll be the one threatening you with a knife."

The knife. Suddenly Éowyn felt very pale again as she remembered the eventual use of the knife, and turned. Éomer grabbed her arm, but she dragged him over to the place where Amrothos lay. His father was staunching the blood-flow of the boy's wound with a ripped section of cloak, and did not look up when Éowyn approached.

Faramir was kneeling beside his cousin as well, his brow furrowed in worry. Éowyn touched his arm slightly, and he raised his eyes to meet hers.

"Will he be all right?" she whispered.

He shrugged helplessly.

"I don't know. We can only hope so."

Éowyn stared at Amrothos' still, still face and swallowed a sob. Brave. She was brave. And so was he.

"He saved my life," she muttered. "Twice, maybe. And did I ever thank him for it?"

She met Faramir's gaze, and he gave her a reassuring but somewhat despairing smile. It came to her, quite out of the blue, that she was alive. They were alive. And now there was nothing to fear anymore, nothing but joy and laughter and happiness ahead, though danger was always lurking in the blackness of the future.

They had just clasped hands when another voice, weak, pale, but very much alive, replied, "No, you didn't. But you might get another chance sometime soon, if you ever start speaking to me again."

Imrahil let out a cry. Amrothos' dark eyes jerked from Faramir and Éowyn's faces to that of his father, and he winced in anticipation for the storm of words that were sure to fly forth. Instead, however, Imrahil bent forward and embraced his son roughly, though still taking care to be reasonably gentle. In a gruff voice, he whispered, "Eru give me grace, boy. I thought I'd lost you."

And at that, Amrothos gave up struggling and just hugged his father back.

* * *

**_TBC...(in one last final installment...)..._**


	13. Chapter 13

**A/N: And, alas, 'tis the final chapter at last. It was fun, my friends. I'd like to dedicate this chapter (indeed, the entire fic) to the faithful reviewers who stuck with me and kept on reviewing. Especially those who were reviewers of the first fic too. You have my undying gratitude and thanks. Your encouragement makes it worth it. :)**

**Presenting the final chapter of Danger in Edoras...  
**

* * *

_Chapter 13_

Three days later, Mordeth was found dead in his cell in the dungeon of Edoras. He had been stabbed. The guards noticed nothing unusual about strangers coming into the cells that day or about any strange noises, which was rather strange in itself. However no one cared half as much as they might have because everything else was turning out as happily as an ever after can.

That morning, Éowyn was walking in the garden (actually sneaking through the garden carrying a bunch of flowers she'd snipped at risk of the gardener's wrath) when she caught sight of her dark haired friend, his right arm wrapped in a splint and hanging in a sling. With a gulp, she tried to hide behind an urn that was the color of a mossy brick, but Faramir saw her and grinned.

"Good morning, Lady. It is quite an assortment of flowers you have there—a gift from an admirer?"

Was that jealousy she heard in his voice? Couldn't be. It was a silly sort of imagination that she had—and come to think of it, why should he be jealous? She certainly didn't want him to be jealous—and jealous of who? Rather more sharply than his question demanded, she replied, "Of course not. They're for Amrothos. His room is _so _dull just now. But then, I suppose the sick room is always dull."

"Ah," said Faramir with a nod. "Surely, though, your ladyship would like a flower of her own to grace her golden locks? Perhaps—," With a magician's flair, he drew a white rose from thin air (his sleeve, really—hadn't been a good idea but he'd forgotten about the thorns) and handed it to her gallantly. "—a rose?"

Éowyn grinned and tucked the rose behind her ear (the stem was conveniently short enough for her to do so. Faramir did, indeed, think of everything.). Something moved by the bush to their left, and both of them whirled, startled, toward the sound.

"Calm yerselves, cubs," said a gruff voice quietly. "It only be me."

"Farothul!" Éowyn exclaimed in surprise. "I certainly would never expect to find you in a place like this!"

"Makes two of us," the man grunted, and then turned his beady eyes back to the girl and young man. "We be leaving tomorrow—back to the caves, we're goin', to look for Gollum in the blackness."

"The king has granted you permission, then?" Faramir asked, raising an eyebrow.

The short man snorted and replied, "Taking into account that we saved 'is niece and such like, be ye surprised?"

Éowyn grinned and shrugged.

"I'm not. I'm only glad you decided to find someone and help us. If you hadn't, who knows what might have become of us?" She paused, and then cocked her head at the man. "Will you come with me to see Amrothos? I'm sure he'd want to say goodbye."

Farothul shook his head, but grinned.

"No, cub, that I'll not. Not even when ye look at me with that winning smile. Did I ever say ye weren't much in the way o' looks?" He let his eyes wander over her face and long hair of gold and shook his head. "The roses of Imloth Melui ain't prettier, not by far."

Then suddenly, as if realizing he had been thinking out loud, Farothul turned gruff again.

"I'll be goin' now. Hunt well, Lady Éowyn. Tell the other cub I wished 'im well."

"We will," Éowyn replied. She hesitated, and then walked toward the man and planted a light kiss on one of his grimy cheeks. "Hunt well, Farothul."

The man made scarce of himself after that. Faramir had rather an odd look about him, and Éowyn wondered, again, about jealousy, but then asked, with mock shyness, " Would his lordship like to accompany us to his lordship's cousin's sick chamber with the intent of cheering his lordship's cousin up?"

Faramir made a face. "Too much formality, my lady. But yes, I'll come with you. Poor Ro is probably drawing up escape plans right now."

As a matter of fact, he was. As soon as the servant showed them to his room, Amrothos shoved a number of suspicious looking papers under his pillow and proceeded to look innocent. Needless to say, neither of his visitors was deceived, although they did decide to ignore it. Éowyn strode forward and set the flowers on the table beside the bed, giving Amrothos a sunny smile.

"There. Some color in this room at last!"

Amrothos snatched the bouquet up and sniffed deeply.

"Mmm…that almost makes up for those horrible herbs they keep shoving down my throat," he quipped with a grin. Faramir snorted and tousled his cousin's already-disorderly hair.

"You little liar—I'd bet you pour it into the chamberpot while they're not looking, like you did when you were ill last summer. We can hardly trust you to tell the truth about anything now—disobeying your father and all."

Éowyn giggled at the indignant look that flashed across Amrothos' face. She'd thanked him so many times in the past few days for saving her life that he'd gotten irritated and said that he almost wished he hadn't (saved her life), but all of them knew that it was all bluster. Predictably, Amrothos began to protest in response to Faramir's accusation.

"I didn't disobey Father—not exactly, anyway. I rode back to Edoras like he ordered and delivered the message like he ordered too. But he couldn't really have expected me to stay behind—not with you two still captive. And going through the tunnel in the stable is not going outside the walls—not _really_, it isn't."

Letting out a hearty laugh, Faramir cuffed his cousin's head affectionately.

"That's all well and good, but does your father agree with your reasoning?"

At this, Amrothos paused and combed his hand through his blond hair.

"That's the funny thing. Father was awful angry at first about my coming back, but he doesn't seem to mind now. And he listens to me when I talk—and he doesn't call me a nuisance or miscreant anymore. I think…I think…" his words trailed off as he tried to put the feeling into words, but then gave up. "I don't know. All I know is that I have only you two to thank for making him…making him…"

"Realize that he loved you?" Éowyn supplied quietly. Amrothos met her eyes and nodded slowly.

"Yes. Something like that."

The chirping of birds from outside the window filled the silence that followed. It was a good silence, though, full of contentment and relief and happiness. At last Amrothos sighed and shook himself, waking the others from their silent trance too.

"So what happened with Mordeth?" he asked, fidgeting in his bed. "I can't get anyone to tell me!"

"That's because no one really knows," Faramir replied. "He was murdered in his cell—or killed himself. Some say it was the White Wizard—some say the ghosts of the people and horses he killed in his past. I've also heard stories of a vengeful father—though Uncle denies anything of the sort. But like I said, no one knows for sure. All that we know is that he's dead. Quite dead."

"Was he really behind all those…those horse-napping things that Éowyn was talking about?"

Jerking her head in a nod, Éowyn allowed herself a smirk.

"That's right. They found lots of dark horses in the caverns—horses that had been stolen from our stable. Apparently, Mordeth was working for Mordor, and was stealing the horses that he couldn't buy from us. The grownups were talking about Morgul Knights, and that Mordor needed horses for some of their forces, but I couldn't make heads or tails out of it. They got some away, of course, but we saved most of them.

"I _told_ everyone they were being stolen," she added under her breath.

They talked some more until the healer who was tending Amrothos came in and insisted that it was time for him to rest. Making a face, the son of Imrahil sighed and rubbed at his midsection.

"I wish this would heal faster. I do so _hate _to be abed, especially with a wound that's not really too bad. The healers say it was," he put on an expression that really did look like one of the healers, and finished, "a deep cut that fortunately did not penetrate any organs. Bosh and tosh. It was _hardly_ deep. Little joy in getting your first wound if it isn't even life-threatening."

"I'm sure your father would hardly agree with _that_," Éowyn retorted.

"Buck up, Ro," Faramir told him teasingly. "You'll be up soon enough and causing trouble before anyone is ready for you. Uncle said we'll stay here until Théoden has decided whether or not he can spare us men for Osgiliath and the border—which might take a very long time. But for now you need your rest."

"That's right," Éowyn said, grinning at her two friends mischievously and feeling a thrill of excitement run down her back like a shiver. She tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear and felt her fingers tingle as they brushed the white rose gently.

"Besides" she continued, meeting Faramir's eyes and feeling her stomach flutter as he smiled back at her, "summer's just begun. I have a feeling that another adventure could be waiting for us already—just around the corner."

_Finis_


End file.
